


Cornflower Blue

by thecollectiveunconscious



Category: Naruto
Genre: But Sarada exists because she is awesome, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Romance, M/M, SasuNaru is OTP, Sasuke and Sakura are NOT married, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2018-12-31 16:20:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12136326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecollectiveunconscious/pseuds/thecollectiveunconscious
Summary: Life has its tragedies, its responsibilities. Duties to his clan. Raising his daughter as a single father.Uzumaki Naruto...was unexpected. But inevitable all the same, unstoppable. Like a blast of sunlight, like the howling of wind.





	1. The Calm

**SASUKE HAD NEVER LOVED HIS WIFE** , but he loves his daughter with every fiber of his being. At her birth, seeing the puny, puckered infant covered with fluid, he'd felt for the first time an intense wave of love, so absolute it'd rendered him unable to speak. But the gentle waves of tenderness he now feels when gazing upon his daughter, even after these years, is still a foreign feeling – after all, "love" has eluded him for the majority of his life.

The most he can do to show his affection for her is a gentle poke on the head or a hesitant, one-armed hug on the rare occasion. Some nights, he sits beside the girl as she sleeps, quietly stroking her hair through the long, desolate hours and hoping to convey all the parental love he cannot during the day.

He'd never cared for the girl's mother. She had been a distant cousin, a lesser daughter from a far-flung branch of the house. Sasuke had been informed of his upcoming nuptials upon his twenty-fifth birthday – the quarter century milestone reached and in his relations’ eyes, ready to fulfill his duty of propagating the Uchiha family line. 

Theirs is an old, noble family, roots firmly buried in ancient Japanese soil. In the crackling leather and the yellowed pages of family archives, they trace their lineage back a thousand years to the emperor’s court, the age of myth and dreamy dwellers in the ancient city of Heian.

It hadn't mattered that he had not been looking to get married. He'd barely given it a thought, focusing on his career - and, when he allowed himself to think about it, knew that marriage was never on his mind because he had never once been romantically interested in a woman. Any woman. Though he'd never acted on it, Sasuke had known for a long time that if he were to prefer, he preferred the company of men.

But duty was foremost, and notions like marrying for love were easily dismissed in a clan such as his. And so, when Sasuke had been presented his duty, he had carried out his orders without a second thought.

The woman had been pleasant-looking, quiet, and agreeable. An ideal spouse. He’d been assured that he could marry her and continue to live the solitary lifestyle he had always led. He did not have any vices to shame a young wife; instead, he was married, truly, to his work to the long hours at his job in the secretive echelons of the federal government. On the rare days he had off, he preferred to spend the hours nestled in his cavernous library or engaged in short, fierce bouts of swordsmanship (now, he does the same but with a little girl sitting beside him immersed in her own books, or waving around a wooden shinai beside her father).

Scarcely a year into their marriage, his wife had given birth. It was the desired effect, but the undesired outcome. _A girl_ , muttered one elder. _How disappointing_. _Early days yet_ , said another. _They’ve got many years between them_.

Three months later the girl’s mother had suffered an untimely illness and passed. Power and madness, prosperity and misfortune – the Uchiha birthright, never one without the other.

At her funeral, the women had whispered that her husband, the young scion of the main family, never shed a single tear. They saw that he held the baby all throughout the ceremony, but they’d though it out of duty, not out of love.

They had failed to note the gentle way he cradled her, the softness in his eyes as he looked at her. He'd whispered into her ear during stolen moments, quietly ducking into an unused room as he walked around and repeatedly stroked her back, the baby hiccupping in her sleep. _I’ll take care of you, always_ , he had promised.

The infant, now a young girl of ten – too young to be sporting the face of serious contemplation she often wore (she was an Uchiha to the blood) – is the source of Sasuke’s current dilemma. Specifically, the question of who would help raise the child.

After his wife’s death, there had been a rotation of relatives, caretakers for the young girl. The last one had stayed two years, an elderly aunt whom he’d met infrequently at large clan gatherings. A widow who had wished to live her life of quiet retirement in her small town, but had traveled the great distance to Sasuke’s home at the behest of the main family. The old woman had raised the girl dutifully and dependably. And when she was granted leave to return to her old life, she had packed her bags and left with a perfunctory farewell. Sasuke had treated the woman with curt respect and had paid her generously over the years. And expects to never see her again.

It is in this situation that Sasuke finds himself desperately interviewing potential live-in nannies, having taken a week off from work and growing frantic as the deadline loomed large. He had earlier procured whom he'd thought a decent replacement – another distant relation – but the woman had suddenly taken to the hospital and was unavailable. Now, time is running out and his situation is dire. He cannot take off any more days from work; even while working his regular hours there is always too much to do. But raising his daughter properly is of the utmost importance and he needs to find the perfect caregiver.

The person proves elusive. He sees candidate after candidate – those with advanced child-caring degrees jumping at the chance for a relatively low-key, extremely well-paid position. A number of them stumble over their words as they behold the fine-boned, aristocratic face of the widowed father.

At the hint of a blush or a furtive, flirtatious glance, Sasuke mentally crosses them out. It will not do. They would be living together, after all, bumping into each other in the spacious multi-story loft Sasuke calls home and communicating on the hour about his daughter. Business relationship or not, a certain sense of intimacy cannot be avoided. Any sort of complication, specifically of the romantic kind, is definitely not one welcomed by Sasuke.

And so he firmly ushers these women out, one after yet another. They teeter out the door reluctantly, leaving behind a trail of sticky, wounded hearts.

Between endless rounds of interviews, a headache steadily worsening – he opens the door yet again -

 

And sees  _him_.

 

For a moment, all that flashes in his brain is white, nothingness, as he stares at the stranger on his doorstep. He finds himself drawing in a deep breath, a sudden constriction of oxygen to his lungs.

He is looking into a pair of the sweetest, warmest, bluest cornflower eyes he has ever seen. A halo of hair messily rains over a bright and handsome face. The stranger is smiling, pink lips like ripe fruit curving upwards.

A large hand is outstretched towards him.

Sasuke shakes it. And promptly forgets all language.

“Uchiha-san, it’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I believe we scheduled an interview for 3 o’clock?” speaks the stranger. His voice is at once rough and melodious, boyish charm beginning to smoothen with age. It is a voice just a hair’s width on this side of adulthood.

Sasuke comes to, and clears his throat. “Ah… yes. You must be Uzu… Uzumaki-san. Please, come in.” As he speaks, he inwardly chides himself for the sudden fumbling over his words. First, he hadn't expected a male - belatedly, he realizes the name  _Uzumaki Naruto_  is decidedly not feminine, but the names had begun blurring after the twentieth resume.

And second - he is embarrassed to even think this - but he hadn't expected that a male could be this - this golden and so goddamn  _beautiful._

 

The boy – man? Sasuke is unsure what to call this attractive interloper – ambles into his home behind him. They walk across the expansive space into the section where he formally entertains (the least used part of the house). Sasuke sits in a straight-backed chair at the head of a vast dining table and gestures for the blonde to settle in the seat adjacent. He does so, flinging down his body rather carelessly on the seat. The master of the house forcibly jerks his eyes away from the slim, broad torso that suddenly occupies his field of vision.

After what seems an age of digging through his backpack, the blonde finally hands over a clear, neatly labeled folder to Sasuke.

Sasuke scans the resume in front of him, eyebrows crinkling as he absorbs the information. And when the blonde sees that Sasuke has reached the bottom of the sheet, he opens his mouth, eager to speak.

“As you can see, I received my specialized degree in education earlier this year. I’ve been working for the past few months at the local community center in their after-school outreach program," says the blonde. "During the day, I spend a few hours helping out my old mentor at his institution. Pre-teens and adolescents, especially those who need a bit of extra attention, are my specialty.”

“…how old are you?”

“Twenty-one,” he states confidently.

“It says here that you’ve been volunteering in various child-caring organizations for a number of years. Seven, to be precise.” He looks up and meets the young man’s eyes, flinching inwardly as he again sees just how _blue_ they are. “…You’ve been working with children since you were fourteen?”

“…Yes.”

“But you were a child yourself. Your parents allowed this?”

The blonde clears his throat. “Yes… you’re right, I _was_ a child. But I got involved early because I was… err, in that situation myself. My parents passed away pretty much when I was born,” he states frankly. “And I’ve been in the city system since. Iruka-sensei – my mentor, Umino Iruka, was my guardian when I was young. That institution I help out with, he runs it. It’s an orphanage for under-eighteen dependents that have nowhere else to go.”

Sasuke takes a moment to study the face in front of him. He doesn’t have sympathy for the other’s situation – after all, death and loss have been hand in hand with him from his own youth. And reality is that this conversation right now is only taking place to replace his own daughter’s lack of a mother. So he can empathize, but he doesn’t go so far as to feel _sorry_ for the young man. But he can respect someone who doesn’t bow down and cower when life pours over its inevitable deluge of misery.

“…Haruno Sakura set this interview up for you,” Sasuke recalls. The pink-haired doctor, an old classmate and one of few people over the years he keeps in sporadic touch with. After hearing that he was searching for a caregiver, she'd barraged him with texts regarding this Uzumaki character. “How do you know her?”

A sheepish grin, a hand reaching up to brush down the unruly nest of hair. “Well… I’ve known her for a few years now… mainly from numerous visits to the hospital.”

Sasuke quirks an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Does the man have an illness, a recurring condition requiring frequent visits to a medical center?

The blonde, as if reading his mind, continues hurriedly. “I don’t visit anymore for _me_ , though. It’s not that I have some terminal illness or something. It was when I was still in high school, for a bunch of isolated incidents. And we naturally became friends. Although she still terrifies the sh- uh, can be intimidating sometimes.”

Sasuke is dismayed to find himself interested in the story. “What was the reason you went to the hospital so often?”

“Well… this is nothing to be proud of, really. And I don’t even know if I should be telling this to my potential employer.” The pink lips turn up in an impish grin, turning his face from Botticelli-serene to sudden enigma. “It all started in my wayward youth…” he drawls theatrically, assuming a tragic expression. “I’m sure you remember what it’s like being a teenager. _Hormones_. Being angry for no reason. Just running wild.”

“I really can’t relate,” Sasuke says drily. And it’s true. He _can_ relate to ‘anger’ – flashes of cold rage he experienced through adolescence. But it had all been ruthlessly disciplined on his end. No, Sasuke cannot think of a time where he truly let go and gave in to an explosion of temper.

The blonde laughs. “Uchiha-san, you were much better behaved than I.” He gestures at himself in a self-deprecating manner. “I was pretty much the stereotype teen and I was angry at everything, all the time. I tended to express myself with my fists and may or may not have harbored dreams of becoming a night-riding vigilante.” He rolls his eyes. “The first time I met Sakura-san, I was sixteen, and I’d broken my arm while jumping off a three-storey building on a dare. The second time I met her, four months later, I’d fractured my leg; I don’t even remember what I had been doing. And the third time…”

The blue eyes crinkle at the memory. “I was going home from school and I happened upon a group of guys beating up this really quiet kid from my class. My head kinda went blank from there. But I became conscious at some point and realized I was at the hospital, my face just about split apart and ribs cracked in three places. I think I was high on painkillers and I can still hear her voice ringing in my ears – ‘ _Naruto, you idiot, I’m going to kill you if you don’t die from this first_ – ”

Despite himself, the dark-haired man lets out a tiny huff of amusement. “And those guys?”

Naruto smiles mysteriously. “They got what they deserved.”

Sasuke tells himself that he _should have_ heard enough and _should be_ booting the man out of his house – after all, he is interviewing this man to be the primary caretaker of his young, impressionable daughter – but is alarmed to discovered that he finds this all sort of… rather… charming.

“So she stitched you up a bunch of times, and you kept in touch.”

Naruto laughs. “Yeah, a few more times after that, until she finally helped knock it through my thick skull that whatever I was doing, wasn’t working.” His voice softens. “I had worked with children from fourteen, but I had done it just enjoying myself, because I liked kids. Not really having any real purpose for it. But Sakura-san and Tsunade-baachan from the hospital helped me to clean up my act and apply for college. Study childhood education and have some sort of direction. Now, I can actually contribute in a meaningful way and help out Iruka-sensei.”

This time, Sasuke frowns. “You seem as if you are already busy with your current program and helping Iruka… sensei. I’m not sure if you have the availability for this job. I require commitment from you from Monday to Saturday because of my hours. There is a bit of time during the day while Sarada is at school, but-”

The blonde jumps in. “Oh, no, Uchiha-san. I wouldn’t dream of wasting your time with this interview if I wasn’t going to commit. I’ve already told my current supervisor that I wouldn’t be able to continue if I got this position. And Iruka-sensei is fine with me coming on Sundays or whenever I have free time. In fact – ” the blonde suddenly falters, and Sasuke is irritated at himself for being eager to hear what he was going to say.

“… In fact?” he prompts.

Naruto doesn’t blush, not exactly, but there is a bit of trepidation in his eyes, possibly embarrassment.

“In fact…” the blonde speaks, after a moment. “When Sakura-san told me your situation, I pretty much, um, begged her to get me an interview. I just felt this – I don’t know, this weird connection to you and your daughter. She didn’t tell me much but I heard about your… your wife. And a bit about your family. I – I hope you don’t mind,” he blurts out when Sasuke’s eyebrows quirk up. “I kept badgering her for details because I wanted to know what I might be walking into… I hope you understand.”

Sasuke lets out a graceful shrug. “It’s no secret. Any kid with a smartphone and half a brain can find it all out, anyway.”

Naruto looks relieved at Sasuke’s nonchalance. “When she told me, I thought… well, I know how hard it is, a single father raising his daughter. Doesn't matter if you have money or not - or I mean, it _does_ matter, but the emotional burden is still the same, you know? Lord knows Iruka-sensei has gone through some difficult times. And he tells me, even though he loves what he does and wouldn’t give it up for anything… that it’s so much easier when there’s someone – someone who is old enough, responsible enough – to share the burden with.”

He pauses, and looks Sasuke straight in the eyes. Deep compassion lingers on his face. “I know you’re a busy man and you need someone reliable for your daughter. I want to help Sarada-chan. I want to help _you_.”

Sasuke leans back, faltering in this unfamiliar territory. All of his previous caretakers for his daughter, distant cousins and aunts and other relations, had simply done their duty. Nothing more. And here is a perfect stranger telling him he wants to help  _him_. He doesn’t know what to think of this man – one part of him argues that after all he is paying a ridiculously high salary for this position. 

But Uzumaki Naruto's eyes are ringed with sincerity.

 

He suddenly hears the smooth sliding open of metallic door and the growing footsteps of his daughter. Uchiha Sarada materializes, poking her head into the dining room. Her wide black eyes fringed with dark lashes (an exact replica of his) calmly regard both her father and the stranger sitting across him.

“Papa,” she says, the adult expression of her face offset by her child’s voice. Sasuke inwardly smiles. He never fails to be proud of her. “My mathematics homework is finished. Can I have a snack?”

“Of course,” Sasuke says, and makes to stand up. Inwardly though, he doesn’t have much idea what he’s doing – they’d largely dined on takeout this week as he’s hardly comfortable in a kitchen. He barely has a clue of the contents of his fridge or his cupboards… though he’s reasonably sure the old nanny did shop for groceries shortly before she left…

“Here, let me.” The blonde smoothly cuts in and stands up, brushing out the wrinkles in his shirt.

He winks at Sasuke, and for a horrible moment his heart stops at the utterly devastating action.

Naruto smiles at the girl who is gazing at him with some curiosity. “Hi, Sarada-chan. I’m Naruto. It’s nice to meet you,” he says, crouching down and holding out his hand for her to shake.

The little girl reaches out and shakes his hand with a dignified maturity beyond her years. As Naruto loosely holds her hand, he begins leading her down the hallway. “Can you show me where your kitchen is? Let’s see what we can rustle up for you…”

Their voices echo as they go around the corner and disappear from view. Sasuke takes a few minutes to scan the resume, one last time from top to bottom, and heads to the kitchen himself.

 _He's too young,_ he thinks.

He enters, and he can see that the Naruto has already located and laid out utensils, rummaged the fridge, and is in the process of chopping up sticks of vegetables. Sarada is seated on a high stool behind the breakfast bar, amusement lining her face as Naruto chats away cheerfully. He carefully files one of the carrot sticks into a shape somewhat resembling an animal, and holds it up for inspection.

“How’s this bunny looking, Sarada-chan?”

Sarada giggles, actually giggles, and Sasuke’s feels the ghost of a smile rising on his own lips. “It’s too pointy to be a bunny!”

_He's just graduated. There are many more who have years and experience, with multiple degrees, masters and doctorates._

Naruto laughs, tips the carrots and celeries onto a plate and spoons out a small puddle of hummus. He carefully arranges crackers and thin wedges of cheese and sets it all in front of the little girl. Sasuke leans by the far counter to watch their easy interaction, slightly disturbed with how natural this all seems. Like Sasuke, Sarada, too, seems to have warmed up to the blonde in mere minutes.

This familiarity from this complete stranger that unnerves him.

 _He is - wild,_ he tells himself. _He sounds like he used to be out of control. He doesn't seem reliable._

Everything about Uzumaki Naruto – the way his eyes flash blue and mischievous, the low murmur of his voice, the seductive way his tee slides against tanned skin – sends bells ringing through his head. Instinct warns him to not to dip his toes into these strange and uncertain waters. To push this stranger out the door and continue dwelling within the safety of spaces he has always known.

He opens his mouth. He needs to thank the younger man for his time, wish him the best, and to politely - but firmly - send him on his way.

_He is entirely unsuitable for me._

 

_Did I just - "for me"?_

 

As if reading his thoughts, the blonde suddenly turns his head - and looking straight at Sasuke, flashes him another cheery, sunshine smile.

And before he knows it, the words fall out of him, unbidden, like water -

 

“Uzumaki Naruto-kun,” he says. “You’re hired.”


	2. Incoming

**HE IS DISINCLINED TO BELIEVE** in nonsensical, poetic notions like _fate_ , or _destiny_. Those words are generally used by giggling schoolgirls or elderly matrons, sighing with wrinkled hands over their hearts as they relieve the fantasies of their youth.

He is still wary of the stranger in his home, of course. Not least because he is exactly that – a _stranger_ – but more still because the blonde settles in so quickly that it’s as if he’d always been there.

Outwardly, nothing has changed inside the house, except that Naruto has moved in his few scanty belongings into the generous wing of the house provided for him by Sasuke. But somehow, the entire house seems brighter. Fuller.

Sasuke rubs his eyes, and looks around his office. Elegant mahogany flooring, walls inlaid with rich black brocade. Expensive, leather-bound books lining the numerous shelves. A precious scroll carefully inked with the Uchiha crest and family name framed against one wall. It’s the same old room, the same old colors, the same old furniture that has been here for a decade.

Distantly, he hears Naruto’s cheerful voice as he helps Sarada pack for her extracurriculars.

Yes. Definitely brighter.

He hears the front door opening, then slamming shut – and all of a sudden, the house grows still.

It has been about two months since Naruto moved in, and he is both satisfied – and mystified – that things have progressed so smoothly it seems almost unnatural in its ease. Immediately after Sasuke had offered the position, they’d moved back to the dining room table and hammered out the details of the contract. Three days after the interview, Naruto had arranged his various affairs and settled into the house, immediately taking up when Sasuke went back to work. They’d fallen into the agreed routine seamlessly. Six days out of seven are spent at Sasuke’s house – Saturday evenings, Naruto is free. _I’m going to Iruka-sensei’s,_ he’d say, and vanish for the night.

He is back precisely at 7 P.M. Sunday evening. Once back, he is full of news. About Iruka, about the orphans – three of them in particular, Naruto is especially fond. Konohamaru, Udon, Moegi, he calls them.

From their fondness of pranking and the stories Naruto tells of them, Sasuke thinks that they are an utter pain in the ass (to be fair, he hates all kids, with the exception of one), but Sarada seems to like to hear about their exploits. Her favorite is of the time they let loose the neighbour’s cat, Tora, and spent two days after combing every nook and alley for the bushy-tailed monster, finally emerging triumphant while scratched and clawed bloody raw. Of course, the one most punished by their actions had been Iruka, who had spent the week after regularly cleansing and dressing their wounds.

Sasuke hears these stories as well, because Sunday evening is the only time where he, Naruto, and Sarada are in the same room at the same time. They have dinner together, where Naruto and Sarada talk about this and that, school, plans for the week, and Sasuke sits and listens.

 _He must be out of his mind_ – he can’t remember the last time he had dinner together with Sarada and any of her other old caregivers. The first Sunday night after Naruto had returned, the first time all week Sasuke had actually seen the blonde (Sasuke was usually out to work before dawn and back around midnight), he’d thanked him for coming back and had immediately retired to his office to work.

Instead, he’d spent all evening instead listening to the blonde’s cheery voice floating upstairs (how, he didn’t know, as there were layers of reinforced concrete between them, not to mention an entire floor), and half-wishing he was down there with them. The second Sunday had been much of the same.

The third Sunday, he’d given up on any hope of staying away and – hoping he’d assumed an air of nonchalance – had quietly appeared in the smaller dining room and had joined them.

Sarada had nearly choked on her water when she saw her father appear, but she’d wisely kept her mouth shut.

Naruto had greeted him happily, as if this seminal event wasn’t at all extraordinary. From then, Sunday dinner had become routine.

To all intents and purposes, the young caregiver is excelling. He takes Sarada to and from school dutifully. Delivers her to her various after school lessons. Provides her with regular meals, spends time with her in play, helps her with homework – Sarada privately admits to him one day that this is the one thing that’s rather unnecessary, as the blonde is not at all scholastically inclined – and tucks her into bed with stories. Sarada regards him affectionately, even more than Sasuke had expected. She seems to see him almost as the loving uncle she never had, the one that could have been (his nii-san, he tries not to think about – the accident had been twenty years ago, but the pain still chokes him all the same).

During the day, when neither he nor Sarada are at home, Sasuke has given him free reign of his hours. Some of those hours are spent grocery shopping, Sasuke knows, as he employs a cleaner but no housekeeper. There has never been much of a need – he scarcely takes any meals at home, and Sarada’s keep is entirely in the hands of her caregiver.

The rest of the time that Naruto has, he can only assume what he does. Some of it, probably, is spent over at Iruka’s.

On Sundays, when they are all three in the room – Sasuke sends fleeting glances Naruto’s way as the younger man sits oblivious and chatters with Sarada, wondering at what he knows, what he _doesn’t know_ about the blonde. Then he chides himself for even wondering in the first place.

 _Like a teenager with a crush_ , he thinks. _I’m disgusting._

Sometimes, Sasuke is still unnerved when he looks directly at Naruto. It feels like he is looking straight into the Sun.

 

He hears the front door open, and is startled out of his reveries. And in a state of both growing horror and anticipation, he hears the sound of footsteps growing closer, and closer –

There is a gentle knock on the door.

“C-come in,” he says, hoping to hell the blonde didn’t hear the break in his voice.

The door swings open and the blonde steps into the room, and for a moment, the red rays of afternoon glances off his head and wreathes him in a crimson halo.

“Uchiha-san,” he says, with a smile. “It’s good to see you. I wouldn’t have known but I noticed your shoes out by the front. You’re usually not back until later in the evening on Saturdays.”

Sasuke nods slowly. “Yes,” he says. “I, ah, brought some work with me.”

Naruto eyes the tottering stack of papers on Sasuke’s desk with amused despair. “Ugh, that looks like way too much to be dealing with on a weekend.”

The older man cracks a half-smile. “All in a day’s work.”

The blonde takes a step into the room. “Honestly, Uchiha-san, you work too much. I mean, I know you have a super important job and it’s all ultra urgent, top secret confidential blah blah, but everyone needs some downtime. Even the president goes golfing on the weekends.”

Sasuke is amused. He decides to hit on the topic he is allowed to comment on without breaking national law. “Yes, the man has a fondness for golf, doesn’t he?”

Naruto laughs. “The way people talk, he’s spending half the nation’s taxes flying down to his country retreat every week.”

“It’s not always golf,” says Sasuke, privately marveling at himself for being able to talk so _easily_. “Sometimes, he has meetings down there. Sensitive ones – too sensitive for the official halls. Some decisions are made more easily with distance. A few of the nation’s preeminent policies have been shaped almost entirely during those weekend meetings.”

The blonde’s eyes glimmer with interest. “And since we’re chatting, would you be able to say which policies those have been?”

“Not a chance.”

Naruto heaves a theatrical sigh. “Thought I’d try to learn some state secrets from you, but I guess not today,” he grins. He steps back towards the door. “Well, Uchiha-san, you seem like you have a lot to do, and here I am taking up your time.” He takes out his phone from his back pocket and peers down at it. “Sarada is at her Saturday lessons, as you know. I’ll be picking her up in a few hours and then I’ll be going to Iruka-sensei’s for the night.”

He turns half round, his hand on the doorknob, ready to stride out.

 _Stop_ , Sasuke wants to say. _Please, stay._

“Uzumaki-kun, are you staying in the house while Sarada is gone?” Sasuke asks – almost blurting out the question. He could smack himself.

The blonde turns back with a questioning look in his eyes. “Um, yeah, I’m, uh – heading to the training room for a bit.”

Sasuke is surprised. “The training room?”

And here, Naruto reddens, just a tiny bit. “Yeah, I, uh – noticed you have an awesome space, and I learned some swordsmanship a few years back, but haven’t practiced in awhile and thought I’d take it up again.” Seeing the unreadable expression on Sasuke’s face, the blonde momentarily panics. “Sorry! Am I, ah, not allowed in there? Damn, I should have asked earlier, but one look and I was seriously head over – ”

“…you know how to spar?”

The blonde scratches his head. “Yeah, I mean I only learned for like a year so I’m no expert, but it was one of the best years of my life.”

The dark-haired man stands up and pushes his chair back.

“May I join you?”

 

* * *

 

SASUKE DELIBERATES on what to wear. He can go all out and change into basic, but traditional training gear - keikogi, hakama, set of armor. Swordsmanship is an art very seriously taken by the Uchiha clan, who have the blood of daimyo, masters of samurai, running through their exalted lineage.

In one of the rooms of the house (maybe the library? Or the second study) is a full suit of battle armor dating back to the 1500s, used by an earlier Uchiha ancestor who fought alongside Toyotomi Hideyoshi to conquer all of Japan and unite it under one imperial regency. The large uchiwa fan largely embellished on the back is scratched and slashed and faded over long years but still visible, proudly dominating the surface. In a time where warriors oftentimes concealed their clan heritage on the battlefield in an effort to avoid backstabbing from unforeseen enemies, this Uchiha forebear clearly had no such compunction.

Though they had been nobility for at least a thousand years prior to the wars of the daimyos, the Uchihas had earned their footnote in history on the battlefield - blood-eyed demons, they'd been called. On some historical scrolls re-enacting the legendary battles, Sasuke’s ancestors are sometimes depicted with glowing red eyes, purple flames erupting from their bodies.

Artists and their imaginations, he would think with a sneer.

It feels somewhat - incomplete, to not be wearing at least a hakama when having a bout with swords (he can still hear the insistence from his old master, who’d been a talented teacher but excruciatingly boring, to always properly attire himself), but if he knows anything about Naruto, it's likely the blonde will show up in a sagging t-shirt and joggers and immediately start swinging a sword around. And he has no idea whatsoever as to the blonde's proficiency or how seriously he takes the art of the blade.

Casual tee and trainers it is, then.

In a moment's time he steps into the hushed room and immediately feels a sense of tranquility. The atmosphere is muted, calm and still. Light filters in unobtrusively through strategically placed windows, making the expansive room gently lit but shadowed. The fresh smell of bamboo from the padded mats wafts up pleasantly. The air presses on him heavily in this room; every move he makes is deliberate, careful. He can feel his senses sharpen from the moment he enters - can feel every piece of rogue straw on the mats beneath his feet, can hear the sound of fluttering leaves on the trees in the courtyard.

He walks over to the wall at the far back, where dozens and dozens of swords and weapons are mounted in dazzling displays. Very few of them are pieces that were created purely for show; most of them have been used, held by generations upon generations of warriors. The silver swords gleam, shiny and pure, with not a trace of the blood that coated them through the years they were in use. Sometimes, the blades seem to beg him to use them again.

Instead, he grabs a wooden bokken and takes a few practiced swings with it, the bamboo blade sluicing the air with a heavy _whoosh_.

His back is turned to the door when it slides open, and he feels, rather than sees, the second presence in the room.

"Uchiha-san!" says Naruto. His voice is quiet but filled with anticipation. "I'm sorry, did you wait long?"

He turns. "No. Not at all."

As he expected, Naruto is in an old gym shirt and track pants. But his breath still catches, because when Naruto smiles like that - bright, shy, eager - the rest of the world seems just a bit dimmer in response.

The blonde quickly strides towards him and eyes Sasuke's weapon of choice with amusement. "You've a room full of actual weapons, and you choose the old _wooden_ blade." He runs his gaze along the wall, and Sasuke notes with approval the appreciation in his eyes. "I've thought this before, but this is incredible, Uchiha-san. There are like,  _famous_ swords in here. I think I recognize that one - the red."

He reverently touches an aging red handle, the black lacquer of its sheath hiding the wicked bite of steel beneath. "Japanese samurai history was the only class I paid attention to in school. Isn't this Hattori Hanzo's _ketsueki_ sword? I remember cause of all the pages and pages he wrote down bragging about it. All that crap about how there was never a moment it was not covered in blood during the entire time he owned it."

Sasuke nods in confirmation. "You'll be pleased to note the metalworker was able to restore the blade without a trace of what used to cover it. Not an easy task, he'd tell you - it was coated with centuries of grime. Hanzo’s _ketsueki_ sword and his blustering was obviously just a figure of speech, but apparently his descendants felt it their duty to carry on his boasts. They let whatever touch it, stay, and never even polished it." He thinks back to the horrific condition the blade was in when he first happened to come across it. "I’m sure Hanzo was spinning in his grave at its treatment. Samurai took care of their swords like their children."

Naruto whistles. "And this - "he touches the hilt of another, one with a golden serpent winding around its obsidian handle. His voice is awed. "This belonged to _Oda Nobunaga_."

Specifically, the blade he owned during the historic battle where he brutally toppled his rivals and unified Japan under his control, but was ultimately betrayed by his own retainer. Considering its role in history, it is feasibly worth more than a small city. Sasuke gives a nonchalant shrug.

"Damn, Uchiha-san. It's a sick display but you know..." Naruto pauses, then grins, cocksure. "It's actually kind of selfish of you, really. These should be on public display at a museum, but here you are, hoarding fifty pieces of priceless Japanese history for your own personal entertainment."

Sasuke walks over to the wall and reaches over to Nobunaga's blade, plucking the priceless relic off its mount.

"My brother once told me that the soul of the sword weeps when it isn’t in use." He unsheathes the sword, revealing the golden tail of the dragon that curls down further, filigreed on the surface of the shining steel. "Now, obviously, we don't go around cutting off people's heads. But in the hands of a worthy custodian, a sword can reclaim its purpose, even if the only thing it bites down on is air."

"So, you think you're man enough to be the  _custodian_ of this sword?" Naruto drawls playfully.

 _Oh, you want to play this game?_  

"Yes." He says. Simply.

He holds out the handle of the sword towards Naruto, willing him to take it.

The blonde does so with drawn breath, pulling out the sword in slow, reverent motion. The soft _ssshick_ of the sword as it is pulled out of its scabbard seems to echo in the quiet space.

Sasuke speaks softly. "Better in your hands than behind a wall of glass, where thousands can see but none can touch."

Naruto holds the blade in his hands, his whole face lit up with excitement despite his earlier admonitions. "Holy - gods," he murmurs. "This thing is - _wow_." He swings it in a downwards motion, and Sasuke is pleased to note that from this one move, he is reasonably assured the blonde has some competence with a sword. "Hundreds of years old and still perfectly balanced. _Damn_."

Sasuke allows the blonde to swing it around some more, then holds out the scabbard again. Watching him with the weapon gripped in his hand has Sasuke's own palm itching, eager to hold his own and challenge a strong opponent. His skin prickles with need. Swords do something for Sasuke that nothing else does.

Naruto pouts and gingerly slides the sword back into its home. "At least a dozen masterpieces in here and we're not using them for actual play."

Sasuke huffs with amusement. "Maybe, sometime." He snaps the sword in and deftly places it back on its mount. Grabbing another practice bokken, he tosses it to the blonde. Naruto snatches it out of the air. "I need to make sure you're good enough, Uzumaki, that I won't be cutting you to pieces."

"Hey! Not fair! How do I know _you're_ good enough to fight _me_?"

At Sasuke's raised brow, the blonde acquiesces. "Well, I guess you wouldn't have a whole truckload of swords in here if you didn't know what to do with them. But you know, this could all be for show and you haven’t so much as sliced a watermelon in your life.”

Sasuke rolls his eyes and walks to the back of the room, where he picks up two helmets. "Armor?"

Naruto grins. The same enigmatic smile he had on during his interview, when he’d alluded to the mysterious fate of those childhood bullies. "Don't need it," he says saucily.

The older man tosses them back on the ground. "Have it your way, then." He turns and faces the blonde, shifting the bokken from one palm to another, re-familiarizing himself with the sensation. The feel of a blade, even if a wooden one, sends the blood rushing through him, a buzzing crawling over his skin. He is heady with the sensation, at the smell of wood and steel and the determined gaze of a challenger standing before him, god, how long has it been –

 

Without warning, Naruto darts forward, sword effortlessly passing from left hand to right. His feet cut across the bamboo mats in short bursts of speed, sword held high and ready to bring it swinging down -

Sasuke blocks it easily and parries, shifts into his own offensive. He has never been the type to sit back and defend. And, he realizes quickly, neither is Naruto.

The blades flash rapidly back and forth, feet fly across the expanse of the room and their bodies twist, turn, lunge forward as they look for any opening from the other. Neither gives an inch, the occasional grunts of exertion the only sound from them. The minutes tick by, and the room grows a shade darker with the setting sun. Pearls of sweat begin to bead on hairlines. Sliding down tawny skin, splattering against a pale brow.

Sasuke has deadly precision, ruthlessly honed skill, years of instruction and experience. He is unparalleled within his family. His every move is perfection, designed for maximum efficiency and result. And Naruto -

Sasuke never expected him to be this _good_. He is undisciplined and unorthodox, wild like the wind, and some of his movements would have made his old sensei weep with shame. He could tell Naruto has had only a scarce amount of actual instruction and a whole lot of self-experimentation. But the boy is a natural. No, not just a natural, a _force_ of _nature_.

It reminds him a little of his brother, a natural born fighter if there had ever been one. But Itachi had been subtle in his mastery. Luminescent, like the moon. Whereas Naruto moves rougly, exuberant and as uncontrollable as a tornado – when the bite of its breath swoops down upon the earth, it follows no lines but goes where it will.

 

Naruto stumbles, panting heavily.

Sasuke, never one to miss an opening, darts forward and slices his sword through the air, hitting the other with a resounding _thwack_. It rips out of the blonde's hand and goes flying through the air.

Naruto cries out, and Sasuke uses the chance to point his sword directly at the opponent's throat, willing him, forcing him to admit surrender. The blonde is caught off balance and wavers, tipping backwards, and Sasuke is moving forward for the final strike -

Naruto's leg sweeps out unexpectedly and slams into Sasuke, pulling his feet out from under him. At the same time the blonde lands on his back with a resounding _thump_ , Sasuke – too startled to react – falls hard on his behind.

For a moment, all he can feel is the heaving of his chest. All he can hear is the sound of his own breaths, rapidly in and out.

And then his eyes focuse on the blonde, sprawled out in front of him, and the breath is quite literally knocked out of him.

 

The blonde's chest also rises and falls, rises and falls, and his pink lips have dropped open as he struggles to catch his breath. Naruto's shirt has ridden up, revealing a large slice of slim, tanned, muscled stomach. There are swirls of dark ink peeking through, what seems to be the outer edges of a spiral imprinted on the smooth surface. A tattoo, and a large one, by the looks of it.

Sasuke's palm starts to itch again, but for now an entirely different reason.

 

Naruto finally sits up with a gasping laugh, letting his shirt flutter back down to the edge of his pants.

"H-holy shit, Uchiha-san," he pants. "You fight like the devil. But – ” Naruto manages to smirk in-between his breaths. “I brought you down with me.”

He can't remember the last time someone brought him down, fairly or otherwise. "....You cheated."

Naruto smiles widely, his teeth fully bared and a teasing expression entering his eyes. He cocks a dark blonde eyebrow, a sultry move that has Sasuke’s insides clenching abruptly, sudden fire bursting through him. His nails dig into his palms and leaves little crescent grooves.

"Can’t handle me?”

 

* * *

 

HOURS INTO THE NIGHT, while Sarada is sleeping and Naruto is long gone, Sasuke can’t help but replay the afternoon in his head, over and over again.

_By the gods, I am worse than a schoolgirl._

Though he is disinclined to believe in nonsensical poetic notions like _fate_ , or _destiny_ – he can’t deny that he feels the gentle tugging of its threads. Beckoning, towards a ray of light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was turned from a one-shot into a multi-chapter fic! Not super long but will be a few more chapters to go.
> 
> Please, PLEASE read the first chapter again if you read it as a one-shot a while back - I am constantly editing my work (why is it that your work - which seems perfect at the moment - is always revealed to be a pile of crap the very next day) and have re-wrote small sections of it. Nothing big, but enough to make a difference in voice and flow.
> 
> And yes, I will be periodically looking back at this chapter, weeping, and re-writing whole bunches of it.


	3. Uncertainty

**SASUKE LOOKS OUT THE WINDOW** , and realizes that it is snowing.

He peers at the snow outside, watching the thick swirls of it drifting down. While he had been closely bent towards his desk, filling out the mountain of papers claiming his attention, the world had been steadily covering itself in a layer of white.

Sarada will like it, he thinks. She’s always had a penchant for playing in the snow.

As for Uzumaki-kun –  _Naruto_ , he’s begun to call him in his mind – he supposes the man will be as exuberantly happy for the snow as he is most everything else.

His phone makes a loud  _ping._ Speak of the devil.

A message from Naruto. He gets a text at least twice a day, when Naruto drops her off at school and when he picks her up. A happy, eager, slap-dash message filled with exclamation marks and emojis.

 _Good afternoon Uchiha-san!!!,_ he read.  _Picked up Sarada-chan from school! ^_^ she doesn’t have any after school lessons today so we’re going to make dinner at home and break out some board games. Don’t work too hard!!!_

He texts back a simple  _Thank you_. In fact, that’s the majority of their conversations, as he scrolls up through the log of messages. Naruto’s texts – the bubbles long and elongated, filled with smileys and snippets of this or that new activity they would do. Sasuke’s, a steady stream of clipped  _thank you_.

He switches onto the app on his phone that is linked to all the security cameras at home, and zooms into the first one. Naruto and Sarada are bustling through the front door, boots kicked off and cheeks pink from cold.

As Sasuke gazes at their image, Naruto suddenly looks straight up into the camera. He grins widely and waves – nudges Sarada, mouths something to her, and she waves as well.

Sasuke realizes he is smiling rather foolishly a moment later.

He thinks back to several weeks ago, where Naruto had splayed out all in front of him, sweat dripping on his skin and chest heaving, and he had ever so suggestively asked if he could  _handle him –_

He feels a blush rise to his cheeks and hastily turns back to his work. The mess of paperwork in front of him blurs, dizzying him.

Ever growing responsibilities has him spending even longer hours here than usual. He’s spent several nights in a row here, passed out for brief hours on a leather couch in the adjoining office. The few hours he’s been home has been in the middle of the night – and he is back in the office before sunrise. He’s spent the past Sundays with his papers spread out next to Sarada, and rushing back to the office once Naruto returns.

He feels exhaustion down to his bones. He leans back into his chair, tilts his head up, and massages the bridge of his nose. His eyes – the Uchiha have always had sensitive eyes – flutter closed.

A brisk knock on the door has them flaring open again, in slight annoyance at whoever is interrupting a rare moment of rest. Before he could reply, the door swings open.

In walks Hatake Kakashi.

“Sasuke,” drawls Kakashi in his calm, leisurely voice, one hand stuck inside the volume of the dirty porn books he is always touting about. “Thought I’d find you here.”

He hasn’t seen the man in months, and is rather pleased to see him – but Sasuke being Sasuke, deliberately tries to sound more irritated than he is. “Hardly surprising; this  _is_ my office.”

Kakashi’s eye crinkles upwards in a smile. The man has two expressions – a smile or absolute blank gaze, helped further by the fact a giant mask obscures the majority of his face. Helpful, if you like to keep people in a constant state of suspense (Kakashi likes tells people his face is scarred from years of beating off gorillas in the Amazonian rainforest, Sasuke suspects bullshit). His hair is also dyed silver, in a further attempt to confuse people and even covering over one eye (more idiosyncratic bullshit).

He thinks most of what Kakashi does or says is bullshit. But on the rare occasions Kakashi gets serious, he is – deadly – serious. The result being that Sasuke can never let his guard down in front of him.

“Most of the building seems to have gone over to the presidential wing to watch the first state televised speech. Why am I not surprised to see you  _not_ there, where you’re supposed to be?”

Sasuke gestures to the workload in front of him. “The president should be thankful that I’m here, doing what needs to be done. Otherwise he may be out of a job in the near future.”

Kakashi settles into one of two leather-bound seats in front of Sasuke’s imposing mahogany desk. “You look like you need to go home and sleep for twelve hours. But you’re looking rather well.” The man peers closely at Sasuke’s face.

Sasuke tries not to flush at the sudden scrutiny. He schools his face into a carefully neutral expression, hoping not to give anything away. The silver-haired man can sniff out secrets from a mile away.

“I  _am_ well,” he says, stiffly. “It’s been quiet. Productive.” He gestures towards his old mentor. “How are you? You’ve been away longer than usual.”

Kakashi is distantly related to the clan, the scion of an obscure member of some lower branch who’d married outside the family. Regardless, he had spent a large portion of his childhood running around the main Uchiha residence, and had been the life friend of Sasuke’s deceased Uncle Obito (there are many a deceased uncles in the Uchiha clan, which makes them all the more anxious for new heirs). Rumors had circulated for years that the two were a special unit – spies, assassins, modern-day ninja, sent on far-flung locations in the world for top secret missions.

All Sasuke knows is that one day, when he was a child, Uncle Obito was suddenly around no more. And Kakashi was alone, but wearing a mask. With one long, thick scar running down the left side of his face.

A few years later, when Sasuke had been in his teens and suddenly found himself without a family – the accident that had consumed his father, mother, and brother in one fiery swoop – Kakashi had stuck around and done his best to be a hybrid guardian/older brother of sorts to him. Though it was difficult to be an effective guardian to one as prickly, independent, and perpetually pissed off as Sasuke had been.

As well, he had been away often, popping in and out of Sasuke’s life with irregularity. Sasuke still does not see the man on a regular basis – he is usually away, doing whatever mysterious jobs that are required of him. Sasuke hadn’t pried then, didn’t pry now – sometimes, it is best not to know what others didn’t tell you.

“I have,” says the older man. “I’m expecting to stay around for a while now, though. I’m older now. Ready to settle down a bit. Read some books.” He reaches into his vest pocket and removes a flask. “Want some?” He proffers.

Sasuke shakes his head.

Kakashi takes a sip, and sighs with satisfaction. “How is Sarada-chan doing? Still as cute as a button?”

A  _hnn_ , his usual go-to confirmation. Kakashi waits for more. Sasuke adds, “Sarada is doing wonderfully. Top student in all of her classes.”

“I’ll come by to see her,” promises Kakashi. “Take her out for the day. The amusement park, the zoo, something. What do little girls like doing, anyway?”

Sasuke has no clue. He has hardly paid attention to the interests of little girls in his lifetime. He knows what  _Sarada_  likes to do with him – swing swords, read books, practice martial arts – but, he realizes, he has no idea if she likes dressing up in cupcake dresses or having little tea parties with dolls, in all the numerous hours he doesn’t see her. “I… expect she’ll be fine with anything you want.”

A light of amusement dances around Kakashi’s one eye. “Next Saturday, then. I’ll come round to pick her up.”

Sasuke nods his assent, making a mental note to inform Naruto.  _A free day_.

Suddenly, all the possibilities of the free day begin to flood his mind.  _Maybe_ , he thinks with sudden interest,  _I’ll stay home and work in the home office. We can have another round in the training room, I can show him some adjustments to improve his moves_  –

Kakashi speaks, his tone serious. “Sasuke.”

“Hmm?”

“I have a message from your great-uncle,” says Kakashi. “He expects your presence for the pre-New Year celebrations at the main house.”

Sasuke scoffs. “There’s no need for a  _message_. He knows he can expect Sarada and I to come pay our respects. It’s tradition.”

Kakashi gives him a look he can’t quite decipher. “It is especially important for you to come this year.”

Sasuke is immediately suspicious. “Why?”

“He didn’t say. But I suppose he has his reasons.”

“What  _reasons_?”

Kakashi shrugs. “Like I said, he didn’t tell me. But he wanted to make sure you’d be there. So I volunteered to let you know.”

“You didn’t have to volunteer for something like that.”

“I thought me telling you would let you be – less stubborn about it. You do hate being told what to do,” Kakashi says lightly.

 _Less stubborn_. Sasuke’s current relationship with the clan is hard to define – though there are many male cousins, he is the heir presumptive, a title that had once belonged to his father, and to his brother Itachi. A difficult situation, considering that he likes to make as little contact as possible with the whole extended family.

Prior to the accident, Sasuke had been a wide-eyed child drilled with his responsibilities, receptive and eager to fulfill his familial duties. But the years after, forever scarred with the loss of his family and with the fuck up that had been his clan-imposed marriage, he had been reluctant for years to tie himself in as closely anymore. He fulfilled his necessary duties, and it was enough.

Any other messenger sent to him would have been sent immediately back with a glare and a  _fuck off_ , which would have likely offended his great-uncle. He acknowledges Kakashi’s familiar protectiveness over him, but doesn’t say anything.

“Anyway, like you say, you are planning to go. So that’s that.” Kakashi takes another sip from his flask. “So. I heard old Kuyo-baachan broke her leg. Wasn’t she supposed to come live with you for awhile?”

The old aunt who was supposed to come take care of Sarada, prior to being hospitalized.

“Yes,” he says dismissively. “She needed to recover and was unable to come.”

Kakashi shifts in his seat, nonchalant, but Sasuke can feel the sudden laser focus on him.

“And I also hear,” he says casually. “That you hired a little blonde boy to look after her.”

Alarm bells ring in his head.

 _Of course, he knows,_ he tells himself. Kakashi has an uncanny knack for finding things out. And not just him.  _All of them. They all must know. It’s been months._ The exalted Uchiha clan are a gossipy lot, with any piece of news sniffed out like a bloodhound and traveling through the various information networks at lightning speed. Possibly some nosy cousin had been spying on them from the moment Naruto had walked in through the door.

He would tread. Carefully.

“Yes. I have hired a caretaker for Sarada. He is  _not_ a  _little blonde boy,”_ he says with emphasis. “He is a  _professional,_ fully certified for childhood education with years of experience.”

“I’m surprised you picked a male to take care of your young daughter. Aren’t you worried about anything…happening?”

Sasuke bristles. “He’s not like that,” he says, feeling uncharacteristically defensive of another person. “Besides, there are security cameras all over and I wouldn’t have missed it if anything would have happened.” His voice rises. “He’s the best caretaker Sarada’s ever had.”

Kakashi raises his eyebrow at the sudden outburst, and Sasuke remembers that he needs to check himself.  _Damn._

“If you hired him, I’m sure he’s more than competent.” Kakashi says easily. “But I was just surprised when I heard. Most people tend to hire women for this sort of thing.”

“Even if I had wanted to hire a  _woman_ , they were all lovesick fools and I wouldn’t have been able to tolerate them at all,” Sasuke bites out.

The silver-haired man casually runs his finger over the wooden desk surface. “Well. Brings me to my second point.” He pauses. “Word on the street is, the kid is rather good-looking.”

The corners of Sasuke’s mouth dips into a neat little frown. “And your point is?”

“ _And_  he prefers the company of other good-looking men.”

He freezes.

“Handsome, dark-haired men, as it turns out.”

Sasuke feels his hackles rising. “Kakashi. Have you been  _spying_ on him?”

“Nah, just the usual routine background check,” he says. And he leans over to Sasuke, flustered and annoyed, and his eye twinkles.

“Oh, Sasuke. I can read you like a book. You're interested in him, aren't you?”

Sasuke's eyes widen. A cacophony of insults rise all at once in his throat, and he blanches, coughing violently. "Kakashi," he spits out. “What the  _fu_ -"

Kakashi leans back with a satisfied look in his one damned eye. “Ah, young love. Or rather, young, unrequited love. What's keeping you?”

His chokes finally subside, his breathing calms. He settles, still angry and beginning to feel embarrassed at his definitely uncool reaction.

“ _Kakashi_. It is a  _professional_ relationship.” He says firmly, glaring at the silver haired geezer. “He stays at my house in a  _professional_ capacity.”

He tries not to think of all the times he’s caught himself daydreaming about Uzumaki Naruto, his dusky skin, his throaty laugh, his cornflower eyes.

"Sasuke, it's time you put yourself out there," reasons Kakashi. "You haven't had any sort of romantic relationship in your life. Your marriage was ten years ago, and it was for duty's sake." The man's one eyes looks over him intensely. "Are you worried about the clan's reaction?"

"No," Sasuke bites out. "It's not that."

"Then why don't you just go for it? You like him, he lives with you, he's into you - "

“It's completely inappropriate! He’s taking care of my daughter!” Sasuke catches up to the latter part of Kakashi’s sentence. “ – and what the hell do you mean,  _into_ me?”

Against his wishes, something fairly electric sparks along his chest.

Kakashi waves a lazy hand his way. “Of course he would be. That boy would have to be a fool to not be head over heels for you.”

He does not recognize it at first, the lull of disappointment seeping through him. It fills his mouth with bitterness. It’s only Kakashi’s assumptions, an outsider’s surface level deduction.

Sasuke spins in his chair, agitated, almost childlike – if only to get away from Kakashi’s penetrating gaze for a moment. He catches sight of himself in the window – the snowflakes accumulated along the edges of the panes, the world a ghosty white that reflects his own eerie reflection.

He stares at himself, misty on the window panes. Mere physicality is not enough. What one can offer to another has to be beyond appearance – it only plays a factor in the first, breathless months of ecstasy, eventually fading away if there is nothing below the surface to offer.

And there is nothing of value he can offer, to one like Uzumaki Naruto. He is older ( _much_ older), has a child, is widowed for god’s sakes, tied down to the damn clan and its obligations, lives a life of unending work and routine. It is like a checklist of every negative attribute one would want in a potential romantic partner.  _He_ wouldn’t want himself.

Him and all of his baggage. They would be a weight around Naruto’s neck. He’d tie him down forever.

“…He isn’t a fool. There would be nothing in it for him,” he says, a note of regret entering his voice.

Kakashi looks as though he’s gotten his answer. “Ah. So you  _have_ thought about it.”

“I –“ Sasuke catches his error belatedly. “No!”

_Yes._

The older man leans back and studies him, and Sasuke tries to smoothen his furrowed brows, unclench his fists.

“Hypothetically, then. Why would you think there’s nothing in it for him?” Kakashi asks, with genuine puzzlement in his voice.

Sasuke contemplates ignoring him and kicking him out, but long years of experience has him knowing the old man will leave only if and when he wants to.

“It’s… just logical,” he begins, begrudgingly. “He’s… young. Very bright. Different from me, different from anyone I’d ever known. He has this energy I can’t really explain in words.”

“He sounds like he could be good for you,” says Kakashi, gently.

He feels his frustration building again. “The point is that  _I_  wouldn’t be good for  _him_.”

Sasuke clamps his mouth shut, suddenly aware of what he’s saying.

His old mentor suddenly rises out of his chair. “Well, that’s enough chit-chat for now.”

“What?” asks Sasuke, momentarily thrown off balance. “You’re going? Already?”

“Yep. Things to take care of. Don’t forget, I’m taking Sarada next Saturday.”

Sasuke rolls his eyes. He glares at Kakashi, who leisurely ambles towards the door. Typical of the old bastard, to abruptly re-enter his life, drop conversational bombs, mess with his head, then skip off whenever the fuck he wants. He’s tempted to tell man to piss off, to not come by Saturday, or ever. Unfortunately, Sarada absolutely loves her Uncle Kakashi.

Kakashi pulls the door open, then he turns around.

“Sasuke, stop holding yourself back.  _They_ wouldn't want you to.”

 

* * *

 

HE GOES HOME EARLY, for once. In the seat next are him are three steaming carrier cups. Two hot chocolates, one green tea. It’s a little ritual of between him and his daughter, for the two of them to enjoy a hot beverage together on the day of the first snow.

He’s not going to win Father of the Year anytime soon, but this is one of the small ways he shows his affection.

He sees a shoddy snowman built in the middle of his front lawn as he pulls up. Rather large and unsightly, the globes of its body puffing outwards to alarming proportions. A shriveled carrot sticks out of his nose, a thick woolen scarf is wrapped around its neck. One of its two button eyes has fallen off, laying sadly at its feet.

Sasuke picks up the button. After a moment, he screws it back into place then walks through the front door, carrier in hand.

The smell of warm miso hits him like gentle waves even from here, and he breathes deeply of the aroma. Contrary to appearances, Naruto is a rather traditional cook, and feeds Sarada a variety of simple, but wholesome Japanese meals – rice, meats, side dishes, broths. On the rare occasions Sasuke gets to partake, he is quite pleased.

He walks into the brightly lit kitchen and sees the pair. Their backs are turned to him. Sarada is standing by the pots, briskly stirring the soup, while Naruto stands beside her, slicing away vegetables and a block of tofu.

“Careful, Sarada-chan. Stir gently, let’s not get miso all over you,” Naruto laughs.

Sarada slows her vigorous stirring. “I was trying to get all the lumps out,” she says seriously.

Naruto leans over and peers into the pot. “Hmmm… I think you got most of them. Good job. And don’t worry, we still need to add all of this and you can stir it some more.”

Sasuke is momentarily taken back to a decades-old memory, eagerly following his brother around the kitchen. His brother had been making a meal for the two of them.

‘Sasuke,’ his brother had gently admonished as his chubby, too-eager hands had sloshed soup out of its pot. ‘Stir carefully, little brother. Otherwise you’ll end up wearing it.’

The meal had been simple, the efforts of a teenage boy and a child. Pre-made soup and eggs cracked on top of rice. But in his memory now, it had been a feast like no other.

He blinks rapidly. Putting the memory to rest.

 

Naruto reaches over to a handful of mushrooms, and lays it on his board. “Some mushrooms would be good, right? Does your dad like mushrooms? Maybe we should make some extra for him, he might want something when he comes back – “

“He likes them just fine,” says Sasuke.

The two jump, startled, and spin around.

“Papa!” cries Sarada. She rushes forward and he gently folds her into a one-armed hug. “Why are you back so early?”

Sasuke clears his throat, feeling awkward. “First snow,” he says as an answer, and nudges one of the cups forward.

Sarada takes the offering and takes a deep sip. Her eyes light up. “Thank you, papa!” She takes her cup to the breakfast bar and curls herself into the high stool.

He feels himself melting. She is such a solemn, serious creature, but she is still a little girl all the same. His little girl.

“Welcome back, Uchiha-san,” chimes Naruto happily. He has taken over the stirring and is now briskly adding in the vegetables. He checks the rice, pulls containers out of the fridge. “You’re just in time! Can you join us for dinner?”

Sasuke steps forward, almost shyly handing the second cup over. “Yes. Sure.” He clears his throat. “It smells good.”

Naruto takes his with a smile. “Cheers,” he laughs, clinking with Sasuke. He takes a sip. “Hot chocolate?”

“Yes, something to, uh – keep us warm.”

“ _You_ are drinking hot chocolate,” the blonde deadpans.

Sasuke wishes he could close that smart mouth in a more satisfying way.

“No,” he says. “ _I’m_ drinking green tea. I’m an adult.”

“Hey!” Naruto protests, mock solemn. “So am I!”

“Legally, yes. Emotionally, intellectually… can’t say for certain.”

“Ouch.” The blonde feigns a hand over his heart, wounded. “And this coming from a man who’s entrusted me to look after his sole precious daughter.”

Sasuke shrugs. “I figure your maturity levels are about the same, so…”

Naruto snorts. “Alright Sarada-chan, let’s get these dishes out to the table while your grumpy dad finishes his  _grown up_ tea.” He hands over silverware and small plates, and she carries them out to the family dining table.

Straight from a scene of a blissful domestic family, Sasuke thinks. The husband, returning home from work. The daughter, helping with the cooking and setting the table. And the wife – smart, sassy, welcoming back the husband with a smile and a smouldering wink full of late-night promises…

“So,” says Naruto.

Sasuke comes back to Earth. “Yes?”

The blonde leans against the counter, hands grasping the edge of the marble. Sasuke stares at the large hands, the muscled forearms. “Emotionally, intellectually, I’m a kid… how about  _physically_?”

“W-what?”

Naruto’s voice lowers a fraction. “Physically – you do see I am an  _adult_ , right?”

Sasuke swallows. Hard.

 

The three of them have a quiet dinner. Small conversation between Naruto and Sarada, Sasuke occasionally asking a question to his daughter. School, friends, her activities. He mentions that Kakashi is back in town, and she brightens. He directs as little of his conversation to Naruto as possible – he’s hesitant to look directly at the blonde.

He’s still reeling his last remark in the kitchen

“Chouchou wants to watch a movie on Sunday,” Sarada says, munching on her dessert mochi. “Papan I invite her over?”

“Alright,” says Sasuke permissively. “Make sure she gets permission from her parents.”

“Okay! Can I call her now?”

Sasuke nods assent and Sarada skips off, popping her plates into the dishwasher and rushes to her room.

They are suddenly alone. A few seconds tick by, as Naruto’s presence next to him suddenly seems heightened.

“That reminds me, Uzumaki-kun,” Sasuke says, awkwardly breaking into the moment. “Next Saturday, one of Sarada’s… uncles will come and take her out for the day.” He pauses. “I uh – might be home that day. So if you wanted to practice some swordplay…”

“Yeah? That’d be awesome!” Naruto gives a huge grin that lights up his face. “I’ve been practicing on my own, too, you know. This time, it won’t be so easy.”

Sasuke feels the familiar anticipation, the clench of his stomach as he remembers how he felt to move alongside the blonde. “We’ll see about that.”

“But man, you were like, legitimately a  _beast_ with a sword,” laughs Naruto. “Why don’t you quit your job and become a modern-day samurai? You can wander around Japan like Rurouni Kenshin.” He shovels a spoonful of rice and pickled ginger into his mouth. “How are you so damn good?” he asks, words muffled with food.

A corner of Sasuke’s mouth tilts up. “I’ve been practicing all my life. It’s practically a requirement as an Uchiha.”

Naruto whistles. “Huh, so your entire family is as good as you?”

“Some are better than others. But most are better than average.”

“You guys can form a samurai army and take over Japan, then.” Naruto cups his chin with his palms, all eager puppy eyes. Sasuke snorts. The extended Uchiha clan has a stake in every major business venture, every political party. They practically  _have_ taken over Japan. “Are you the  _best_?”

Sasuke speaks without thinking. “No, it’s my brother – “

He stops.

Naruto looks at him strangely. “Your brother?”

He draws in a breath.

“What I meant to say is – my brother, when he was alive, was the best.” A shadow passes over his face. “He dwarfed me, by far. He was naturally gifted. When he moved – I’d never seen anything like it.”

It was true. Nothing and nobody had ever come close to Uchiha Itachi. Sasuke had lingered, all his life, under his older brother’s shadow. He’d never seen anyone like Uchiha Itachi, since.

Except for that day, a few weeks back, when he’d seen a hint of the same spirit under Naruto’s spontaneous movement – so different, but grace in its roughness…

 

“You, too.” Naruto blurts.

Sasuke peers up, startled out of his reverie. “Pardon?”

“You, too.” He repeats. “I mean like, you’re good, too.” Naruto fiddles with his hands. “That day – in the room. I’d never seen anyone handle a sword like  _you_. It was…” he lingers, looking embarrassed. “Like… like fire in motion. Black fire.”

A deep blush stains the blonde’s cheeks. He shifts in his seat, looking away.

Sasuke, too, feels heat on his face.

The two of them sit in prolonged silence. Sasuke, reaching for something to do, takes a deep gulp of his soup.

“Do you like it?” Naruto suddenly asks, almost desperately.

He nods, eager to change the conversation. “It’s delicious.” A rare compliment, but genuine. “When did you learn to cook?” Hardly the popular pastime of males in their early twenties. The most they prefer to do is crack open a can of beer.

“To tell you the truth, the most I could make until last year was instant ramen.” Naruto speaks rapidly, and his eyes suddenly take on a dreamy quality. “I looooooove ramen. I can eat it all day, every day, three meals a day…”

Sasuke makes a mental note to order a large box of ramen for next week.

“But I needed to help feed the kids at the orphanage, and I can’t feed them ramen all day long. So I learned to cook.” His eyes crinkle. “Not easy. There were a lot of tears involved, mostly from onions. I cried out an entire river before I learned to make half decent meals.”

He is struck, again, at the utter selfless nature of the young man sitting in front of him. At the lengths he will go to sacrifice himself for others.

Naruto is  _good._  Truly, a good person.

 

“You really like it?”

Sasuke looks at him. Naruto is peering back at him with a shy, eager-to-please look.

He notices the smudge of brown sauce on the blonde’s bottom lip. His blood quickens.

 _Gods_. Naruto is a mixture of innocence and worldliness, can be young and hopelessly sweet one moment, all light and childlike energy. Then with a shift, an erotic vision, with one cocked eyebrow and a sultry stare.

_I can’t have him. He’s too good for me._

His eyes drop to the curve of Naruto’s neck, the dip of his collarbones.

_Don’t give into temptation._

He wants to press his thumbs into the hollows of those bones. Wants to leave a mark on his body,  _his_ mark. Wants to hear the blonde gasping for breath as he digs his fingers into the cut of his hips and harshly slam their bodies together. Heat surges through him.

He wants to touch him. So,  _so_ badly.

_He’s too young... He’d be burdened by me. He deserves more._

Naruto’s earlier words echo.  _Physically, you do see that I am an adult, right?_

_Damn it all to hell._

Boldly, he reaches out a hand. His fingers gently slide over Naruto’s cheek – whisper soft, light as a kiss.

Before the blonde can react, the tip of his index finger presses hard against the edge of his lips, wiping the sauce away.

Naruto’s eyes widen.

Sasuke holds his gaze, and brings the finger to his mouth.

“As I said,” he murmurs. “Delicious.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sasuke has more issues than Vogue.
> 
> PLEASEEEEEE leave me your feedback, your ideas, your comments, your insults. I have a hard time with dialogue and fleshing out scenes. At times, it seems to drag, at other times, it seems to skip forward much too quickly. This chapter is a hodgepodge of both.


	4. A Step

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> Quick note before we begin: [lights_shadow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lights_shadow/pseuds/lights_shadow) pointed out, for ch. 3, that Kakashi's attitude towards Sasuke's unknown employee was kinda effed up. Which I totally agreed with. So slight edit there. Thank you so much for the critique!
> 
> Also a note about Sasuke's sexuality, added in way at the beginning of the story.
> 
> Apologies for the constant edits! As you guys know, this wasn't meant to be a chaptered fic, so there's a lot I need to re-think and sort of try to fit in to what I wrote before. Also my fanfic career thus far has been a handful of one-shots/incomplete work way back in 2010 (FF.net), and I sorta dove back into it on AO3 last year, so... still learning how to write a story. Thank you for your patience.

**SASUKE DOES SOMETHING** he never thought he would do.

He voluntarily visits the hospital.

On a rare break, he steps away from his office and makes his way to the city center. The giant Sannin Group Hospital, all expensive steel and glass, occupies a huge block of prime real estate in the downtown core. It dominates the area, with a university and medical school off-shooting from it and with various faculty buildings scattered throughout the city. It is available for the general public but privately funded, with the wealthiest and most elite of families having their own reserved wings. Of course, the Uchiha clan have an entire floor for their private use. Prudent, considering the high hazard of bearing their family name.

In the main lobby, he doesn’t linger, doesn’t stand around to whiff the scent of sterilization and the diseased. He easily navigates through the various people in his path – the sick, the elderly, caretakers, jumping children, dozens upon dozens of doctors and harried nurses striding around.

After all, he has a purpose in coming here today.

He finds his way to the quieter upper floors and comes to a stop in front of a dark, elegant oakwood door. Knocks.

“Just a second!” sings an energetic voice.

He could hear the slamming of books, the shuffling of papers and hurried steps. The door opens widely.

“Sasuke-kun!” cries Haruno Sakura, a glittering smile on her face. “Come in, come in!”

He nods, stepping inside. “Hello, Sakura. It’s been awhile.”

She has known him for over twenty years now, starting from elementary school and all through the intervening years. Their relationship had started out as a heart-fluttering, unrequited crush on her side – her and the rest of the girls in the entire school. Sasuke would have long ago written her off as yet another useless, nameless girl, except that she had displayed formidable intelligence and ambition, even in her youth. Something he had noted. They'd been classmates all throughout their school years, attended the same college, and stayed in touch even during his marriage – she’d been there at the ceremony, a strained smile on her face, but still congratulating him nonetheless.

After the death of his wife, she’d been there for him. Treated Sarada like a favorite niece. And slowly, gradually, she’d come to understand his preferences and that, no matter what she felt for him, there could be nothing more he could ever give to her. They’d been able to evolve into a true, comfortable friendship from that point.

He’s still closed off, is terribly remote and has a tendency to let long months pass without communication, but he has cultivated with her as warm a relationship as he is capable of having.

She flutters around him now, ushering him into a comfortable seat, pushing a cup of tea into his hands.

Even in her thirties, Sakura retains her youthfulness – bright pink hair, bright green eyes. Everything around her is bright – even her uniform, a delicate blushing rose of a smock instead of the usual soulless white worn by the majority of doctors. Throughout her career, many had questioned the abilities of such a slight slip of a girl. But she’d wielded authority from day one and had blown them all away with her brute ability and skill. There is strength in the surety of her hands, the steel in her gaze. Crystal-clear clarity and confidence that is required to be among the top heart surgeons in the continent.

He studies his old friend. Age and experience have given her a level of sophistication she lacked in her youth. She is a beautiful woman.

“I know you said you were coming, but I have to confess that I really didn’t expect you to _actually_ come,” she says. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” he says. “I um – wished to discuss the donation that will be coming soon from a subsidiary of the family business. For the new research wing.”

“Ah, yes, the donation,” she says pleasantly. “Of course, we’re ever dependent on the Uchiha munificence. Shishou is extremely pleased.”

As always, there is a motive to what the family does, of course - being seen as charitable is good for business. “Good,” he says, eager to get off the subject and inch along to his desired topic. “And… how are you?”

He is not accustomed to asking people 'how they are' – the lack of experience shows. Comically.

Her eyes narrow, but she plays along. “Well, it’s been a busy season,” she sighs. “It’s good you came now – twenty minutes later and I wouldn’t have been able to spare a single second. Consultations, meetings with the hospital board, checking in with Tsunade-sama. And all this before the actual work – I have to fly off to Hong Kong tomorrow for a follow-up procedure.” She shook her head. “Lee has been so helpful… he’s a saint for putting up with my schedule all these years.”

Her long-time boyfriend, a semi-professional martial artist that Sasuke has met infrequently over the years. He can’t recall much about him, but he’d seemed kind, had doted on the pink-haired woman, and had possessed a frightening amount of energy.

Sasuke clears his throat. “I also hear you recently performed a delicate procedure on Eleanor Reisman and it was extremely successful. Thanks to you, she’ll now live to be a hundred – not that it’s a consolation to her children waiting to get their hands on her fortune.”

She raises her eyebrow playfully. “Now, I’m not even going to ask how you know. That was supposed to be a state-level secret, considering the amount of influence the family has." Then she reconsiders. "Well, knowing you and _your_ family, they probably volunteered that information to you without you even asking.”

He gracefully shrugs it off.

Sakura laughs, but she leans forward – signaling that she is done playing around. “Anyways,” she says. “We both know you’re not here to chit chat about me, as delightful a conversation as this is. And the donation, the research wing - you've probably been subjected to hearing about that a hundred times already from the hospital board.” She studies him. “So. What’s up?”

He takes a deep breath and tries to be as nonchalant as possible.

“I wanted to come and say – that is, I wanted to ask about – about Uzumaki-kun,” he blurts.

Inwardly, he flinches. _Smooth._

Her eyes light up as if she’d been waiting for it.

“Yes,” she says, slowly. With sharp eyes, like a predator circling its next meal. “Yes, it’s been a few months now, hasn’t it? He's _perfect_ , no? How is that going?” She delicately flicks a piece of lint off her smock. “That reminds me, Sasuke-kun – you never even sent me a bottle of wine or even a message or anything for finding you such a wonderful… caretaker," she teases. "How rude.”

“Next time, I’ll treat you to the fanciest dinner in town. Take your pick,” he offers. “He has been… doing very well. Sarada is so attached to him that she even waits around all day for him to come back on the weekend. He’s very attuned to her needs.”

Her twinkling smile makes him uncomfortable. “Yes, of course he is good to her,” she says. “Anyways, what about _you_? Is he attuned to _your_ needs?” She winks.

He’s not stupid, he understands the innuendo – but he ignores it, hoping to conceal his hand.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replies blandly.

Sakura, if possible, smiles even wider. “Oh, just talking nonsense” she purrs. “So. Questions about Naruto? I’m at your service. But you know, you should really be asking _him_ directly instead of snooping around to secondary sources.”

There are things he wants to know. Things he wants to find out via others, from other impressions. Before he falls even further down the hole.

“Tell me how you became acquainted,” he says.

Her smile fades, and she sighs. “Sasuke-kun, I’ll tell you some things because we’ve known each other for a long time now, and I trust you. With my life. But keep this to yourself. I don’t want Naruto feeling self-conscious in front of you, or unhappy about you knowing things that he didn’t tell you himself.”

“You have my absolute discretion.”

She drums her fingers on the tabletop, her eyes looking towards a faraway point. Towards the past. “I was doing the final year of my residency. You know Tsunade-shishou was looking over me, and we used to be at the much smaller hospital at the edge of the city. All this,” she waves her hand expansively around the luxurious room. “Came later, as you know. Your family helped fund a lot of it.”

He nods impatiently.

“At that hospital, I didn’t just focus on my own subject of study. There were so little hands on board that we did whatever was required. And this kid kept coming in. A real teenage delinquent – fighting and getting busted up all the time. Word around the neighborhood was that he was a total demon child, and all I saw was a deadbeat troublemaker. Thought he’d end up in jail eventually. I didn’t really pay him much mind except patching him up, berating him a bit, and sending him on his way.”

Her voice softens. “I guess the turning point was yet another time he came in because of a fight – he was so beat up his face was totally mangled. I was so shocked and honestly so pissed off at this loser kid who kept coming in, wasting my time, our supplies, and I was yelling at him even as he was passing out. And when he woke up, I marched into his room to try to beat some sense into him.” She laughs. “He had the biggest smile on his face. Like a real idiot. He talked about the boy from his class, hoped he’d gone home okay. That was when I realized.”

Sasuke can vividly see it as she speaks – stern, angry Sakura, a wild-haired, boyish Naruto smiling cheerfully despite tears from the pain, teeth bared against bandages and torn skin.

“You know he grew up in an orphanage, right? Eventually I was able to get through to the caretaker – Umino Iruka-san – and talk to him, because Naruto was still a minor. I think Naruto was going through a really rough time, because Umino-san was super worried about him, said he hadn’t been home in months. Teen rebellion times a thousand, considering his circumstances, I guess.

But a year or so after I met him, he suddenly stopped. Went back home, and came to me for advice on graduating high school and entering college. He told me that he wanted to work with other underprivileged youth. I was able to introduce him to a pediatrician friend who helped him get into early childhood education…”

She sighs. “You know how to rest goes - he worked very hard, and then I was able to refer him to you. And that's all I know about him. We’re friendly, and I guess I’ve been a – mentor of sorts to him. But what I do know is that he’s a really good kid.” She pauses. “No, not a kid. He’s a good _man_. There are not a lot of people like him out there.”

“Yes,” he murmurs. “There definitely aren’t.”

She peers up at him, sizing him up. “It’s really not like you to be so interested in your employees, Sasuke-kun,” she remarks.

“He takes care of my daughter,” he says, knowing this is a pathetic excuse. “It's advantageous to know as much about him as possible.”

And this time, she rolls her eyes at him. “ _Sasuke-kun_. Please just admit it already and tell me you’re crushing on that boy. And crushing hard, by the looks of it.”

Panic wells in his heart, a grip of anxiety tightening around his chest. Sasuke clenches his hand, feeling supremely uncomfortable.

Being honest, he doesn’t even know what’s going through his own head. _Feelings_ he has for Naruto? A burst of warmth, a slithering of attraction – but those moments, he feels acutely when Naruto is in front of him. When he can’t help but give in to the momentary temptation.

When he’s away from him, it’s a whole other story. He can’t help but _think_ , and think of the unlikelihood, the consequences.

He doesn’t know _how_ – how to do any of it. Emotions. _Romance_. “Please. Don’t start. Not you, too.”

She pounces on the last bit like a lioness. “Oh? ‘Not you, _too_ ’?”

He realizes his mistake, hastily backtracks. “No, no. I misspoke.”

“Hmm,” she murmurs. “Uchiha Sasuke does not usually _misspeak_.” She clucks. “Honestly, I know you have people issues the size of a planet but If it’s taking you this long to just admit you _like_ him, then I don’t know when you'll actually get around to _doing_ something about it.”

“Sakura – ”

“Sasuke-kun, I’m going to admit it. I sent you his resume because he is really good at what he does - but also because I thought I saw _something_ could happen!” She shakes her head. “Naruto-kun is as different from you as the sun is to the moon, but there is something about him – I can’t really explain, but it reminds me _so_ much of you.”

He closes his eyes, feels a headache looming. “Sakura, that’s enough.”

Sakura starts to speak – but she catches sight of the clock, and her eyes widen. “Ooh, I’ve lost track of time! I need to be getting ready for my next procedure – ” she stands up and begins to bustle around the room, grabbing a sheaf of papers and a zipped up briefcase. “So sorry for cutting this short; I know we don’t see each other very often (but really, it’s mostly your fault) but let’s set a proper date for next time, because I have a million more things I need to say to you – ”

He stands. “Of course. Not a problem at all.” He gives her a stiff pat on the arm. “Thank you for your time.”

Generally speaking, his purpose has been achieved - he has learned something new. Another layer to the mystery that is Uzumaki Naruto.

She sees him to the door, seeming to have been distracted off the subject of matchmaking, to Sasuke’s great relief. “Take care! Give my best to Sarada-chan! Tell her her favorite auntie will come visit her soon.”

He raises his hand in acknowledgement, walking down the hall.

“Sasuke-kun, don’t be such a baby! _Do_ something, because you're not getting any younger!” she shouts. “The next time I see you, you better have something juicy!”

* * *

 

 

THE DREADED DAY ARRIVES. Kakashi leans against his entrance, smiling widely. He hadn’t even knocked this time – just keyed in the code and helped himself right in.

Sarada bounds up to the door, jumping into the outstretched arms. “Uncle Kakashi! You’re back!” 

He picks her up and whirls her around. “Sarada-chan! You’re gotten even cuter!”

Sasuke watches them, resisting the temptation to roll his eyes at Kakashi – he is pleased to see Sarada so happy. She is usually so mature and adult-like, but for some reason the old geezer had always been able to cuddle her into playfulness.

Naruto steps beside him, and Sasuke thinks that perhaps the blonde, too, has had some influence on her demeanor. Sarada is much brighter these days. Talks more, laughs more, seems more childish and eager to play.

“This must be Naruto-kun,” says Kakashi, finally plopping Sarada down on her feet. He casually extends a hand toward him, but Sasuke knows his every move is anything but casual.

Naruto bounds forward with a welcoming smile. “Hello! Nice to meet the famous Uncle Kakashi! I’ve heard a lot about you.” He grips Kakashi’s hand.

Kakashi chuckles. “If it came from Sasuke, it can’t have been complimentary.”

“Well…” Naruto laughs, slightly awkwardly. It’s true, Sasuke has been grumping all week, sending vicious black stares into the wall whenever Sarada mentioned her upcoming outing with the old geezer. “I, err, heard a lot of stories from Sarada-chan! About the time you gave her a set of kunai for Christmas. And a sharpshooter for her birthday. And the time you gave her a jujutsu lesson and taught her how to pinch the nerve behind people’s necks.

Sarada beams up at her uncle, and Kakashi beams right back.

“Yes, this one here is an Uchiha to the bone. Picks up on things as fast as I can teach them.” He pats her on the head. “Are you ready for the zoo, Sarada-chan? Or the movies? Whatever you want to do.”

“Okay! Let me just get my things!” Sarada runs to her room with pattering steps, disappearing from view.

The three men look at each other.

“So, Naruto-kun,” says Kakashi nonchalantly. Feigned. “How long have you been working here for Sasuke?”

“It’s been… uhhh,” Naruto mentally counts. “Five months now,” he says. “It’ll be five months next week.” He turns to Sasuke with a wide, surprised smile. “Already!”

Sasuke can barely remember life before Naruto.

Kakashi chuckles. “Good for you for putting up with Sasuke,” he says, shooting him a teasing look. “He’s generally so sour and unpleasant that most people can’t stand being with him for an hour, much less half a year.”

Oh, the bastard. Getting revenge for the way he snipped at him in his office the other day. Sasuke glowers at him, murderous black looks not fazing the man in the slightest.

“No, Uchiha-san is great!” chirps Naruto, rushing to his defense. “He’s completely welcomed me into his home and trusted me with his daughter. And we even practiced kenjutsu together! He showed me some kickass moves last time!”

This makes Kakashi take pause. “Really? He’s been _training_ with you?”

Sasuke blushes, because Kakashi _knows_.

As much as he loves and reveres the art of swords, it is something intensely private to Sasuke. Many of the cherished memories of his brother revolve around it – Itachi gently grasping a bokken into Sasuke’s hands, patiently guiding him through the motions. He trains Sarada, now, because a child of his not learning swordsmanship is anathema, but he’d refused to train with any of his own clansmen for over a decade and had certainly refused to instruct any of them.

So teaching Naruto – being in the room with him, rounding off against him, gently nudging his fingers to hold the hilt in the correct stance – is no small matter.

“Yeah,” burbles Naruto happily, clueless to the silent conversation between the two older men. “He’s wicked with a sword, like he’s actually flying. And the way he moves his feet is insane. He’s been showing me some of the steps, but it’s hard getting the hang of it.”

Kakashi looks at Sasuke, a long lingering gaze, and his face softens a fraction. “I’m sure you’re learning some good things. Sasuke is quite talented at it. You should be honored, you know – he hasn’t practiced with anyone in years, and he doesn’t teach just anybody – ”

Sasuke turns. “Sarada!” he calls out, cutting him off. “What’s taking you so long?”

The pattering of feet grows louder, and Sarada finally appears around the corner, fully bundled in her coat, hat, mittens and with a girlish purse hanging neatly at her side, stuffed to the brim. Sasuke can only imagine its contents; what treasures belong to a ten-year-old girl. “I’m ready!” she says, quite breathless.

She rushes forward, giving a quick peck on the cheek to her father, to Naruto. Naruto wraps her into a big bear hug, full of warmth. “Have fun, Sarada-chan!” he says. “Don’t get into any trouble!”

“If anything, _Kakashi_ will be the one causing the trouble,” mutters Sasuke.

Kakashi smiles, twinkling again. “Don’t you worry your precious little head about it. Your daughter is perfectly safe with me.”

They bundle out the door, Sarada calling out a gleeful goodbye.

Kakashi turns towards them before he steps out. “You kids have fun together!”

Sasuke slams the door closed.

Naruto smiles at him. “Kakashi-san seems to care a lot about you.”

Sasuke sighs loudly. “The only thing he cares about is bothering me whenever he can. I’d like for him to realize how old he is already so he can just go settle down deep into the countryside somewhere, as far away from me as possible.”

“Hmm,” Naruto hums. “For someone who’s apparently so bothered by him, you seemed awfully comfortable in his presence.”

Sasuke opens his mouth – then closes it.

Naruto laughs. “Come on, Uchiha-san,” he says. “I’ve got a few hours. Let’s go to the training room. I’ve been practicing too, you know, and I’m _dying_ for a re-match.”

 

 

THEIR FEET BLUR INTO MOVEMENT. The wooden shinai clash, ringing loudly. Sasuke skips back, parrying neatly as Naruto charges in with the roaring strength of a samurai in the midst of battle. Sasuke sneaks a glance at the blonde’s face – his face is gritted with exertion, brows furrowed downward and eyes narrowed, two slivers of brilliant blue peeking beneath golden lashes. 

Sasuke pivots to the side, his feet gracefully stepping in a familiar rhythm as he swerves to attack his opponent’s left flank. His sword flashes out; a neat jab against Naruto’s side.

Naruto gasps out loud and he falls back once, twice. He bends over, grasping his side and breathing heavily.

Instead of pressing forward, Sasuke stills, allowing the blonde to catch his breath. He wipes the drops of sweat off his own brow.

“Oh…” says Naruto darkly. “You’re going easy on me again. That _won’t_ do.”

Before Sasuke can react, Naruto brings his sword up again, tipping the point towards Sasuke’s.

“No, Uchiha-san,” pants the blonde. “Don’t give me any free passes. We’re going until one or both of us passes the hell out.”

Sasuke looks at the blonde, at his rising chest, at the rivulets of sweat running down his neck.

He can’t help the slight smirk spreading across his lips. “As you wish.”

_Thwack._

 

 

Naruto insists on dinner together before he leaves for the night, so he can grill Sasuke about kenjutsu theory and movement. Sasuke (happily, too happily for his own comfort) agrees. 

They sit in the dining room over a simple dinner, worn down to their bones.

Sasuke had destroyed Naruto, but that was to be expected. Still, Naruto has shown improvement even from just last week, and had pulled out a few unexpected moves as well. From what he’d seen before, he shouldn’t have been surprised – but he can’t help but marvel that he has to put in this much effort against a total novice.

“That move you do,” says Naruto, mouth full and gesticulating wildly with his chopsticks. “Where you just, hold back till the last minute, then _boom_! You pounce out and just completely catch me off guard. What is that move?”

Sasuke swallows, lingering over the spicy kick of pickled hot peppers. “A variation gleaned from a philosophy in the _Tenshin Shoden Katori Shinto-ryo_ ,” he answers. “One of the oldest styles of bujutsu. Wait for your opponent to rush in, then catch him off guard. My ancestors refined these movements, the intention being to strike at the last possible moment for maximum impact. It’s been handed down to us for generations. 

Naruto cups his chin, a thoughtful expression on his face. “You know, I actually love hearing you talk about your family legacy. It’s fascinating. I don’t really have – ”

He stops and sucks in his breath. Then smiles.

“It’s just super interesting. I feel like I’m taking a walk through a Japanese history book.”

Sasuke flicks his hand to negate the praise, hoping to deflect attention away from his family. When he does take a moment to think about it – yes, his clan and his lineage is impressive. But because of that, the extended family of today lies twisted, members competing bitterly in neverending power struggles. Their only thought on how to preserve, propagate, keep hoarding power and prestige.

More importantly – it dawns on him now, as Naruto sits across from him and chatters about this and that sword, this and that samurai, that this is the first time they are just the two of them alone.

He feels a tingling down his spine.

_Talk to him. Learn about him._

“So…” Sasuke asks hesitantly. “You’re heading to the orphanage tonight?”

“Ah, no. Tonight I’m going to see some old friends. But I’ll be heading to Iruka-sensei’s bright and early tomorrow morning.”

“Old friends?”

Naruto brightens. “Yeah! Some of them I’ve known for a looong time, ever since we were kids. These guys are like family to me. There’s Shika, and Inuzaka, Chouji, Hinata, Neji – ” he lists off a reel of names and begins to describe them by special characteristics, little anecdotes to humor Sasuke.

Sasuke watches the way Naruto’s mouth moves, his visible delight in talking about his friends.

“What will you and your friends do? Are you…going out?” says Sasuke, unsure of what it is the kids say these days.

“Nah,” Naruto grins. “We’ve all been busy and haven’t been able to hang out in a while. So we’re just gathering at Shika’s place and kicking back with some beers, play some Madden on his PS4.”

Sasuke is curious, wants to know whatever little details of Naruto’s life the blonde is willing to divulge.

“And… what else do you like to do? During your free time?”

Naruto scratches his head. “Mmm… lately, I’ve been spending all my time training? It’s going to take some time but I’m going to kick your butt one day,” he smirks. “And I’ve kinda started looking at some books, college info. Been thinking of going back to school in a year or two, maybe get a degree in child psychology.”

Sasuke leans back, even as his mind immediately spins with the possibility that Naruto may not be available for Sarada in the future. His heart gives a little lurch.

“That sounds like a good plan,” he comments mildly, trying to ignore the hypothetical. “It will open up some future opportunities for you.”

"Yes," says Naruto. "Something to think about." He swallows another bite of food, and grins. “So, are we still doing twenty questions? Anything else you’d like to know?”

Sasuke steels himself to ask his next one. The one that he’s been gearing towards, during the whole conversation. But it's so ridiculous, embarrassing, so infantile that he nearly stops –

_Do something_ , Sakura had said.

“…Are you seeing anyone?”

Whatever Naruto was expecting to hear, it hadn’t been that – for a split second his expression falters and he chokes. He looks vulnerable, hesitant.

Then the moment passes. Naruto swallows hard and meets his eyes, and _that_ look – the one that makes Sasuke suddenly weak – with the raised brows, the lowered lids, the mischievous twinkle… spreads across his face.

“No,” he drawls. “Haven’t been, for a while now. Although…” he bites his lip then grins, slow and measured. “I wouldn’t be opposed to it.

Sasuke sucks in a breath. He straddles the edge of the knife.

“And what are you looking for?” asks Sasuke, speaking slowly.

“Well…” Naruto considers. “Someone with depth. Values. Foundation.” He looks straight into Sasuke’s eyes, unflinching. “Someone who is sure of themselves… a little older, hopefully a little wiser…”

Sasuke clenches and releases his fingers, tries to sound nonchalant. “Sounds reasonable.”

A smile plays along Naruto’s lips. “Enough about me. It's your turn, Uchiha-san,” he says. His eyes gleam. "Can I ask you anything I want?”

A ghost of a smile rises on his lips. "Sure."

"Hmm," Naruto says playfully. "Favorite season?"

"Winter."

"Favorite hobby? Besides stealing away the swords that make up half of Japan's national treasures."

Sasuke shrugs. "Kenjutsu, as you know. Other martial arts."

"Favorite food?"

"Tomatoes and rice balls," he answers truthfully.

Naruto laughs. "That's uh - unexpected. And adorable," he chortles. "I'll keep that in mind."

He rocks forward. "Which brings me to my next question... are _you_ seeing anyone?"  

Sasuke swallows. “No,” he scrabbles for words, seeing the sudden intensity in those cornflower eyes. "I - I'm not."

"And why would that be?" murmurs Naruto. "Someone like you would have no trouble finding someone, I would think." He raises his eyebrow at Sasuke, a clear question.

He contemplates, slowly drawing out an answer. “I – don’t have much time. As you know.”

The truth was, he'd never been interested in anyone that way. At all.

Until _he'd_ appeared. 

“Hmm..." Naruto rolls the word in his mouth. The pink of his lips glisten. “All those late nights at the office… I think you should try getting out a little earlier, from time to time...”

“Unfortunately, the country may fall apart if I do,” he counters drily.

The blonde chuckles, his eyes never leaving Sasuke’s.

“Oh, I can think of other ways that people might fall apart, because of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is the slow burn killing you? Because IT IS KILLING ME. Thankfully we are at the edge of the precipice, things will start kickin' up.
> 
> Hate the buildup? Please check out my one-shot [Choose Your Topping](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13836981), which is pretty much the opposite of a slow burn. It burns real fast.
> 
> Please also come find me on [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/alxkim/)!!! Shoot me a DM! It's sooo exciting to fangirl IRL with people that get it and this is one step closer to IRL, right?


	5. Duty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two months, this chapter took me. It was procrastination, pure and simple. The first month, I grew obsessed with reading HP fanfic (Draco/Harry OF COURSE) and the second month, I somehow fell into Bleach fanfic. Ulquiorra/Orihime is like darkly perfect??

**THE DAYS SLIP BY LIKE PEARLS ON A STRING**. Half a year ago, Sasuke could barely recall a single day, a single notable event happening in a monotone life. Now, bright spots pop up amidst the haze, like blooms unraveling in lonely winter fields.

He still works his relentless hours. Still leaves his house before the sun rises, before Sarada and Naruto have awakened. On most nights, he still gets home long after the sun has fallen and the house is dark and silent. As always, he still feels the pricks of guilt as he interacts at odd times with his daughter, mostly through phone calls, brief and abrupt.

But now, at least, he makes sure to get home each night instead of spending days camped out in his office. When he gets home, the first thing he does is quietly enter Sarada’s room, watching his little girl with her deep, even breathing and her dark hair tangled upon her pillow. He smoothens her hair out, straightens her blankets. And leaves, as quietly as he entered.

More often than not, he will head for his library on the second story. And at least several times a week, he opens the door and looks in to see the lights lit –and his stomach will twist and clench, because Naruto will look up at him, a tired but welcoming smile on his face.

At this hour, with faint shadows on his face, Naruto’s eyes are a misty blue. The color of nostalgia, the wisps of a dissipating dream.

“Hey, Uchiha-san,” he will say, a hand casually ruffling through the messy strands of hair. “Welcome home!”

In front of him are stacks of texts, graduate school brochures laid out in haphazard piles all over the wooden desk.

Sasuke will sink into the couch and Naruto will tease him for details of his day, trying to finagle amusing stories, whatever state secrets he jokes he will pry out of him. Sasuke will shyly ask about Naruto’s own day – at first hesitant, asking questions strictly related to his daughter, but relaxing into conversation as time passes. He doesn’t have to worry about running out of things to talk about, because Naruto is more than glad to fill it, chattering about this or that and whatever subjects enter his mind. Sasuke finds himself making excuses to come home earlier and earlier, now touting giant stacks of paperwork himself that he scrutinizes as he sits opposite the blonde at study. For long minutes, it will be a comfortable silence between them broken only by the sound of pens scratching on paper.

The more often Sasuke comes to find him, the more often Naruto is there. Even on days he arrives well after midnight he can expect to find him in the room, perhaps dozing off, but a light always lit. The blonde startling awake as Sasuke enters.

“Naruto-kun,” Sasuke will say, on the days he enters to find the blonde drowsing with a book cradled against his head. “There’s no need to wait up for me.”

And Naruto will smile, that trademark lingering smile of light and subtle mystery. “I do it because I want to, Uchiha-san.”

On the days they are both home, on the weekends, Sasuke is struck with a heat spreading through his chest as he spies a languid gaze, a slithering brush of cloth and skin as they pass each other in the halls. Sometimes, during intimately quiet moments, he looks up to see Naruto’s eyes burning blue fire into him, a half smile on his face.

On the edge of the knife, they delicately balance. Bound to tip, one way or another.

* * *

 “PAPA, YOU NEED TO SIGN MY CONSENT FORM for the class trip.” Sarada weaves her fork around the noodles in her bowl, twirling into the pile and hefting up a large forkful. She crams it into her mouth with the joy of a child who places primary importance on the ‘fun’ of a food, rather than the taste. She pokes at the colorful vegetables sitting on top of the broth, strips of dried nori, the sprinkling of scallion and bean sprout. Little spirals of kamaboko ( _narutomaki_ , Naruto had pronounced with a cheeky grin) tumble in and out of the broth.

Sasuke lifts a pair of chopsticks to his mouth – noodles are hard to eat elegantly, but he manages it. “Class trip?” he asks.

She nods. “Yes! Remember I told you that the fourth and fifth year students get to go on a trip during winter break? We’re going to the Noboribetsu Onsens in Hokkaido, and skiing, too. For a week!”

“It’s all the kids have been talking about for a month,” interjects Naruto, swallowing a giant mouthful. Earlier, Sasuke had watched with detached fascination as the man had approached this simple meal of ramen with the religious fervor of a starving man sitting at a feast. “Hot springs, skiing, winter festivals, Hokkaido crab buffets – sounds like it’s going to be some trip, Sarada-chan.”

“I really want to learn how to snowboard while I’m there,” she remarks with the air of one who approaches each vacation with a to-do list of goals. “And I want to visit the historical village, and also the Abashiri Prison Museum.”

“A prison museum?” asks Naruto in horror. “Why do you want to go _there_?”

“So I can learn how the old system worked,” she says with mulish seriousness. A hint of steel enters, her face creasing into that of the stoic Uchiha. “If I’m going to lead the country someday like Papa, I need to know as much about the history of our country as possible. Everything good and bad.”

Naruto chuckles while shaking his head.

“When are you going?” asks Sasuke mildly, regarding his daughter (he hides how proud he is of her last statement).

“In two weeks,” she says. “So I need to bring the form back by Monday. I can go, right, Papa?”

“Of course you can.”

Sarada smiles in appreciation – then her face closes. She hesitates.

“Sarada?” He questions. “Did you need something else?”

“Um…” she begins, the words coming slowly. “Papa… Can we… can we do something together before my trip, then? Go somewhere?”

Sasuke is caught off guard. “Ah…”

“It’s just I never see you, and when uncle is gone on Sundays, you’re working in your office and I…” she spies Sasuke's expression. “Oh… never mind! It’s okay, daddy! I know you’re busy…” She looks down.

Naruto glances at him, his mouth twitching.                                          

A deep stab of guilt goes right through his heart. Again, he is failing. He can never get it all right. The shining example that his brother was – every step perfect, every task completed, every demanding expectation exceeded, even while having all the time in the world to shower Sasuke with love through his childhood.

A memory drifts through him of his own father, remote and distant and someone whom he can barely recall.

“Yes,” he blurts out. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Sarada. Yes, let’s go somewhere. Next Saturday. We can do anything you’d like.” _Now, and in the future. I promise. I’ll try harder._

“Really?” Her face brightens immediately. “Can we go to Puroland? And can I ask Chou Chou to come with us?”

 _Puroland_. He has no idea what that is, but from the name alone he knows this place is not exactly going to be his cup of tea.

He nods assent. “Yes, we can go.” He turns to Naruto. “Would you… like to come with us?” _Please._

Naruto chuckles. “Yeah, of course. Two energetic girls running around a giant amusement park. I don’t think you’d be able to handle them by yourself, Uchiha-san.”

He hadn’t even realized he was holding in his breath, nor had expected the deep relief that flooded through him.

“Thank you,” he says gratefully. “As well, then, since the discussion came up – you’re due for a vacation, Naruto-kun. Would you be okay to take the week off while Sarada is gone? It will be fully compensated, of course.”

Naruto opens his mouth, but Sarada shoots up in her seat. “But if uncle goes, who’s going to stay with you, Papa? Are you going to be all alone?” She looks so distressed – Sasuke doesn’t use this sort of word often, but his daughter is… adorable.

He can’t help but smile. “Your father has a lot of work to do, Sarada,” he says kindly. “I’ll be very busy while you’re gone.”

“You don’t have to worry about him, Sarada-chan,” interjects Naruto.

Sasuke’s gaze cuts to him. Naruto’s face is twinkling. Then the blonde shifts his attention to him, dead on, and his eyes darken with a hint. The corners of his mouth turn wry. “I promise, your dad will be just fine.”

* * *

  **PINK WALLS, PINK FLOORS, PINK CHAIRS, CHILDREN SCREAMING**. Naruto was right. Sasuke would never have survived this on his own.

Sarada and her friend Chou Chou, each clutching a stick of rainbow-hued candy floss so large they can be mistaken for umbrellas, are having the time of their lives. Chou Chou is Sarada’s dearest school friend and Sasuke’s met her only for the first time – a rambunctious, opinionated girl who had taken one look at Sasuke and had whisper-screamed, “Oh my god, your dad is so handsome”, then had taken one look at Naruto and had just flat-out yelled, “Oh my god, is that your dad’s boyfriend? He is SO HOT!” (While his daughter hurriedly explained the dynamics of their odd group, Sasuke unhappily recalls memories of little girls had stalking him incessantly all throughout his youth, camping outside his house for weeks on end. For being such delicate little things, members of the female gender are able to harness frighteningly powerful levels of obsession, all in the name of being ‘a fan’).

The girls are off in the huge indoor playscape, a giant arena crammed full of oversized toys and blinking lights, a horrifying amount of pastel and frills decorating every surface and life-size suited characters lumbering by. Sarada and Chou Chou cling to a bedraggled Hello Kitty (pity the poor sod working beneath the mask) and refuse to let go. Out of nowhere, a dozen other girls appear, latching onto the same figure like piranhas attacking a hunk of meat.

Sasuke and Naruto stand by the designated ‘parents’ area, a cluster of benches where similar weary adults sit in various levels of exhaustion and shoot sympathetic glances at each other. The parents observe the carnage unfolding in front of them with muted horror.

Roughly half of his attention goes to the phone in his hand, constantly ringing with new notifications, emails, frantic work-related messages. The other half tries desperately to ignore the screaming children. And of course, his eyes constantly stray to the side to stare at the way Naruto’s fingers wrap around the side of his coffee cup. He doesn’t know how to battle work fatigue, echoing yells, and uncomfortable amounts of attraction all at once. The sides of his forehead throb with a headache.

A little girl lurches past Sasuke, clutching a doll bigger than she is while her other hand grips onto a cone with a towering mound of ice cream. She stumbles and her hand shoots out, the creamy, sticky mess flying towards his pristine wool coat –

He neatly sidesteps and spins the girl upright, sending her off with a pat on her shoulder and a grim expression on his face. With barely a glance at him, she runs away, yelling loudly as she reaches the gaggle of excitable little girls as they bounce into an Alice in Wonderland tearoom setup.

A spray of laughter sounds from his right.

“Your face,” Naruto gasps, face lit and stretched out in a Cheshire laugh. “Uchiha-san, people look more cheerful during executions.”

He tries to smooth his face into a placidity. It’s hard. “I can’t believe… people are able to handle coming to these sorts of places,” he deadpans, looking around at the defeated expressions around him. One of the fathers slips a splash of whiskey into his coffee.

“It gets easier, physically, when the kids are older,” Naruto says. “See, Sarada has Chou-chan with her. If she were five years old you’d be dragged right into the thick of it, but at this age she’d rather have her friend than her dad. But you know… older kids come with a whole new set of problems too. Teenagers. That’ll be something else entirely.”

Sasuke groans. He knows he’s possibly the luckiest father in the world with the kind of child his daughter is – she is so mature, so composed for her age and unnaturally understanding of him. But adolescence – with what he _does_ remember of it, he’s not sure how he, a perpetually detached, emotionally stunted man in his thirties, will be able to handle it.

It’s times like these where he feels the greatest shame. That Sarada has only him, a woefully inadequate single parent.

A rush of anxiety runs over him, low-rising panic thumping through his veins and a jumble of worries crossing through his mind at once. He looks at the smiling young man beside him and uncharacteristically finds himself voicing his concerns out loud.

“I – I’m worried.” He says, the words clipped and strained. “What am I going to do when she’s fourteen years old, eighteen, and needs someone to…” He doesn’t even know. Female biological functions. Choosing a college. Dress shopping? And, kami forbid – boyfriend problems.

Naruto turns towards him, somber. “What exactly are you worried about?”

“I’m worried that I’m not enough. Sarada is going to need someone to rely on, more and more as she gets older. I’m hardly enough as one parent, and what she probably needs is – ” he swallows thickly. “Someone who can provide her with things I cannot. Someone like a… a mother.”

The blonde cocks his head and looks at Sasuke with an unreadable expression. “Sorry if I’m poking,” he says. “You were married once.” Naruto’s fingers around his coffee cup seem to be gripping harder. “Do you… miss her?”

Sasuke pauses. Contemplating the polite answer, and the right answer. The sudden silence stretches out between them, but Naruto stands calmly beside him as he waits for a response.

“It was… a marriage of convenience,” Sasuke says at last. “She was a distant cousin. I’d seen her perhaps a handful of times at extended family functions. There was hardly enough time to know her before… she passed away.”

He can’t recall much of her but the softness of her voice, yet another ghostly figure that had departed from his life long before their time. The truth was, he didn’t miss her. There was nothing to miss. He’d never given a chance for anything with her because he had known, as had she, that they had been but figures in a game of dynastic chess.

“Why did you marry her, then?”

Sasuke frowns. “It was my duty. The clan expected it.”

“So what?” asks Naruto, genuine curiosity in his voice. “Everyone has to do family shit they don’t care for, but marrying someone because my – I don’t know – my grandfather tells me to? That seems a little too old-school, you know?”

The dark-haired man chuckles. “You don’t know my family. The elders are all ancient relics, and there are - were certain expectations on me as the next presumptive leader.”

“But did you _want_ it? If not because of her, but at least because you _wanted_ to be leader?”

Sasuke blinks. Want? It’s not a matter of want, it’s a matter of _must_.

He sees Naruto frown even further, preparing to ask more questions. _Why_ , _why, why_. Questions he’s never dared to ask of himself, afraid to lift the curtains – and he hastens to steer his young caretaker off course. “Regardless of whatever it was we wanted, everything proceeded as planned. And the marriage, however unexpectedly it ended, brought me my daughter. Terrible father though I am.”

“Uchiha-san. You are _not_ a terrible father,” the blonde admonishes.

A bitter smile twists his lips and he casts his eyes down to his hands, fingers tightly wrapping around the fabric of his coat. “You don’t have to be kind,” he murmurs. “I know what I am. My limitations. My daughter had to practically beg me to spend time with her, and here I am, not even able to handle it unless _you_ – “ the ridges of his knuckles grow white. “Unless someone else is here with me.”

Tan fingers lightly slide over his clenched fist.

Sasuke startles. He looks up.

Naruto’s eyes are achingly gentle.

“Uchiha-san,” he says firmly. “You are putting too much pressure on yourself. As much as we pretend, we can’t handle everything at once. Life is fair and unfair at the same time that way, you know?” His lips turn upwards. “If you’re terrific at your job, chances are low that you’ll manage to be the most incredible, hands-on parent. And if you are this perfect parent, odds are that you wouldn’t be able to handle a high-stress job like yours. And like you said, you’re all by yourself. Or – you _were_ by yourself, ‘cause I’m here now.” He laughs, inviting Sasuke to join him.

Instead Sasuke loses himself to the feel of Naruto’s hand, the pulsing warmth of the large, callused palm placed over his.

“I’ll be honest with you though. I do think you worry too much about expectations. And I think you work a _lot_. Maybe too much. I’m not judging you or anything, by the way. I know I’m not there at your office and seeing everything that’s happening, and people like… Elon Musk, he works 100-hour weeks and you’re right up there with him.” He pauses. “But the point of working, is to live. And there is no point in doing everything you think you _have_ to do – if you’re missing out on everything else.”

Naruto sighs deeply. Sasuke sees that the blonde is not looking at him now but through him, looking somewhere past him into a faraway place…

“Life is short, Uchiha-san. Please don’t forget that. And please, ultimately, do what _you_ _want to do_.”

He has enough presence of mind to feel vaguely annoyed that this boy – practically a baby, whom he has near fifteen years on, is giving _him_ life advice. And the same type of mundane, useless advice found in thousands of hack self-help books. But belief can’t be faked, and his voice rings with the unmistakable tone of sincerity. Naruto’s eyes snap back into focus and he grins at him, impish, sly, shy. His fingers tighten imperceptibly around Sasuke’s.

Sasuke barely opens his mouth before two twin twisters come rushing at him. His daughter and her friend rear up, red-cheeked and with sugar all over their face.

“Papa!” Sarada cries merrily. “Can we head to the concert room now? There’s a Kitty Kitty Heaven Parade starting at 3 o’clock!”

 

 

NARUTO’S DOOR IS OPEN and he could hear him banging around the room as the man gets ready to go home for the weekend. Sasuke hovers in the hall, rather pathetically debating with himself if he should go knock on his door or not. 

After too many moments of dithering, he steels himself and steps towards the door sitting ajar. And just as he raises his hand and knocks softly, he hears a loud ripping sound and a muttered ‘ _damn’_.

The door swings open and a shirtless Naruto is in front of him.

“Oh, Uchiha-san!” Naruto says cheerfully. In his hand he holds the innocuous white tee he’d been wearing all afternoon. Sasuke spies a large tear in the corner of the shirt. Naruto sees the direction of his attention and holds out the item he has just ruined. “Will I ever be any less of a klutz?”

Sasuke smirks. “That’s a rhetorical question, right?” He leans against the doorframe.

Naruto lets out a self-deprecating laugh. “Yup, not even worth asking.” He turns his back and Sasuke is met with a wholly sensual sight of broad shoulders and a chiseled back. The blonde swings around his room, tossing things haphazardly into his bag, innocently unaware of Sasuke’s eyes burning holes into him. The dark-haired man lets himself linger over the expanse, perfectly smooth and unvarnished (with the exception of that terribly erotic tattoo inked boldly into his skin). Sinewy muscles bunch and flex as the youth bends down to pick up the scattered raiment all over the floor.

“So you guys are going to… that family thing tomorrow, right?” Naruto calls out over his back.

Sasuke groans. He had avoided thinking about it for as long as possible. “Yes. Pre-New Year gathering at the main house.”

“Wanna play hooky instead?” The blonde’s tone is mischievous - with a note of seduction.

“If there was anything I could have said to avoid going, I would have made my excuses already,” he answers reluctantly.

The blonde makes a noncommittal sound, a little humming that comes from the back of his throat. “Hmmmm,” he murmurs. He straightens, grabs both a fresh shirt and his bag. He saunters over to the door, eyes fixed on Sasuke.

Sasuke stiffens, freezing against the wall as Naruto looms over him. The blonde steps halfway through the doorway then swivels his head, nose almost skimming against Sasuke’s cheek.

“Uchiha-san,” he breathes, achingly near. The soft sigh stirs his ebony strands of hair, tickling his face. “You should do what you _want_ , sometime, ne?” His voice comes out as a drawl, caressing over Sasuke. At the proximity, the sensation, whatever glorious smell is emanating from him, for a moment Sasuke’s knees feel like they will give out.

And in the tight space between Sasuke and the doorframe, Naruto slowly pulls on his shirt, shoulder, arm, brushing against Sasuke all the while.

Naruto nudges his shoulder affectionately, then in the next moment, he disappears down the hall. As if pulled inexplicably, Sasuke follows him.

He enters the living room, where Sarada is sprawled out on the long, straight designer couches with a book cradled in her hands. Mercifully, she has calmed down from the energy of earlier hours and is drooping from exhaustion. Naruto is sitting by her side, teasing her while affectionately bidding goodbye.

“Uncle, don’t leave!” Sarada near-sobs, clinging to his forearm. Rather melodramatic, considering she will see him again in less than 48 hours.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night, Sarada-chan.” Naruto hooks a finger under his charge’s chin and lifts her face up. “Have fun with your family tomorrow! Make sure you show off to all your relatives how well you’re doing in school.”

He drops a kiss on top of her head and swings up. Grabbing his bag, he walks over and opens the closet in the front hall, pulling out heavy duty snow boots and a thick parka. Sasuke watches him bundle up, winding a well-worn scarf into place and zipping up his coat, thus transforming from human male to bright orange lump. He is as conspicuous as a pumpkin against snow – Sasuke will never understand the blonde’s commitment to a color that seems entirely too loud and garish for its own good. Boots worn, hat pulled firmly down with only golden bangs peeking from beneath, he trudges towards the front door.

 _Don’t leave_ , Sasuke wants to say. _Even for one night. Please, stay._

He shakes his head, willing himself to get a grip.

“The snow will be treacherous tomorrow,” he calls out instead. “Come back home safely.”

Naruto turns, haltingly, and for a long moment says nothing. His expression is unreadable, a tremulous sort of vulnerability crossing his face for an instant.

Then – a slow, dazzling smile.

“Yes, Uchiha-san,” he beams. “See you tomorrow. At _home_.”

* * *

**THE BLACK DOORS STAND IMPOSING** in the center of the wending stone walls; the shining metallic knobs dare any mortal to press hand and push against them. On the lacquered surface is a gigantic, meticulously rendered _uchiwa_ fan. The perfect formation of trees situated inside the walls are bare, their dark branches poking skywards. The walls, the door, the fan all scream for any passing peon to pay respect, for within these halls lies the foundation of power.

The upper muscles of Sasuke’s eyelids twitch ever so slightly, as if recognizing the potential of a proper eye roll. He gestures to Sarada.

Pushing the door open, they make their way down the stone pathway laid precisely against the packed dirt of the front courtyards. In front of him looms a plethora of buildings – the stately main house and clusters of smaller family buildings scattered behind, gleaming aged wood and peaked, black-tiled roofs. Behind them, the great door shuts closed with a loud clang, and the busy sounds of modern Tokyo grow distant.

His daughter adjusts the long sleeves of her formal kimono, carefully wrapping them around for easier walking.

The weather is too cold for any activity outdoors; he sees barely any soul save for the few servants scurrying to and fro, pausing to bow deeply to him before resuming their task. None of his relatives are outside – most of them will be in the main house, clustered in the great hall or reconvening in the various sitting rooms, gossiping furiously and currying favors with senior members.

Sasuke and Sarada walk up the stone steps of the building, and he pushes open yet another heavy door.

The empty anterior hall stretches in front of them. They step into the hushed, opulent atmosphere, the smell of fine incense pervading their senses. Sasuke lets the familiar scent – his mother had always burned the same fragrance during his childhood – wash over him, feeling both comforted and apprehensive. Flickering candles throw long shadows on the richly papered wall as they walk towards the great hall. The closer they get, the din of noise grows louder.

They reach the entrance of the room, and Sasuke hesitates.

“Ready?” he asks, looking down at his daughter. His other hand, he extends, and she grasps it tightly.

“Ready, Papa,” she replies softly back. Sasuke gives a warm squeeze and slides the door open.

The people nearest to them turn around to look, their initial nonchalance giving way to widening eyes as they behold him; they hasten towards the pair to greet them effusively. Various words of welcome are echoed around the room as relatives converge on them. In less than five seconds, they are surrounded by a flurry of figures wearing dark-hued, expensive finery, all of them furiously bobbing their heads and the women (carefully, after flicking their eyes towards him first) grabbing Sarada for a hug. Sasuke returns the greetings politely, inclining his chin as his eyes skim over the members of his clan gathered here from all corners of the country. A sea of dark hair, pale skin, and opaque expressions.

“You made it, Sasuke.” The familiar lazy drawl cuts through the mingling figures and the shock of silver hair enters his line of sight.

He nods at his erstwhile guardian. “Kakashi. San,” he adds, a show of respect for the benefit of the gathered crowd.

Kakashi makes a chortling sound muffled by his mask. “Sarada-chan, you’re finally here,” he says, crouching low and opening his arms wide for a hug. “Uncle has been waiting for you all day.”

Sarada eagerly skips into his arms and Kakashi hugs her tight, spinning her around with little hearts spilling out of his eyes. _Kami_ , does Kakashi irritate the life out of him but – Sarada squeals with happiness as the old man twirls her around.

“Ah, Sasuke,” a voice booms. “At last.”

He doesn’t imagine the tense rigidity in their shoulders, the deference in their postures as his relatives disperse to the sides, creating a straight line of vision between himself and the speaker.

Sasuke beckons to Sarada. He steps forward and bows his head.

“Great-Uncle Madara,” he speaks. “May health and prosperity continue for you and the family in this coming year.”

His Uncle Madara, the decades-ruling head of his clan and the center of the Uchiha universe. He is a dignified, heavyset man with a mane of wild black hair and power clinging onto his every step.

Madara slowly walks up to him, the wooden beams of the floor trembling beneath his tread.

As Sasuke looks up, broad hands clap down on his shoulders and his uncle lets out a deep, hearty laugh. “Health and prosperity to you as well, my boy. To you and to _our_ family.” The man makes a show of surveying him. “It has been a long time, Sasuke. Too long.” His uncle’s face is lined and heavy, but his eyes, undimmed with age, are as full of beguiling cunning as is the black crow’s. Momentarily, those black eyes land upon his daughter.

“And here’s our princess Sarada. My, my, how you’ve grown!”

The girl in question ducks her head shyly, murmuring her greetings. His uncle laughs again and leans over to clasp her into his embrace, discreetly tucking an embossed silver money envelope into her hands.

“Run off and play with your cousins, Sarada. Your father has kept you away from them for far too long, and now they are strangers to you.”

Sasuke clenches his teeth but says nothing. His daughter shoots him a hesitant look but obeys, pattering over to group of young girls similarly clad in kimono.

His uncle’s hand continues bearing heavily down on his shoulder. “Come, my boy,” he intones. “You and I have much to discuss.” Purposefully, his uncle steers him away from the crowd and they begin to walk. Stepping out of a side entrance, they make their way down the halls, his uncle asking small, companionable conversation regarding his work and his relationship with the executive leadership.

They reach the inner chambers, where his uncle’s private rooms located. A servant materializes out of nowhere to slide open the thick paper door, bowing low to them as the two step over the threshold. Resembling a king’s chambers, the length of thick, ornate carpeting leads into a raised dais, upon which cushions are placed upon the rich tatami mats. Behind the long table is Madara’s seat, a throne-like structure of oppressive black, carved with the expected uchiwa symbol embossed in pure gold, delicate filigree raised against the surface.

Madara nestles into his seat and Sasuke places himself before him, respectfully on bended knee.

“So,” begins his uncle, as another servant pours fragrant tea. “You have been busy.”

“Yes,” says Sasuke. “My engagements keep me late in the office most nights.”

The elder takes a deep sip, a small frown nestled between his brows. “Yes, you are making a commendable effort. I also hear of your growing influence with the state secretary over foreign relations. That will be useful to our family in many aspects.” His uncle places down his cup, and it clatters ominously upon the saucer.

“As valiant as your external work is, Sasuke, I am growing increasingly concerned with your negligence with internal affairs. _Family_ affairs.”

It is Sasuke’s turn to frown. “Family affairs, uncle?”

“Yes. It is time, Sasuke,” the man’s eyes are black and merciless. “You must do _your_ _duty_.”

* * *

THE TWO DRIVE BACK IN SILENCE. Sarada is curled up in the backseat, eyes half closed. Sasuke looks ahead impassively, no motion save the occasional jerk of the wheel.

He surprises himself. He expected his mind to be spinning, trying to slot things into place, circling and computing scenarios and possibilities. Instead, he feels curiously blank. He imagines he hears a low and constant buzzing, a whirring sound that grows and ebbs in the echoing space of his mind 

When they arrive home, the lights are already blazing and the telltale sound of activity comes from the kitchen. Utensils clatter, pans and pots bang together. The aroma of cooking meat meanders towards them.

“Sarada,” says Sasuke, hearing his voice detached from his body. “Go and greet Naruto-kun. And get changed for dinner.”

She heads off with a backwards glance toward him. In the distance, he hears two sets of delighted voices, the tones melodic and blending into the background noise.

He stands alone, a long moment where he hears nothing, feels nothing.

A bright blonde head pops around the corner. “Hey, Uchiha-san!” calls Naruto, grinning widely at him. “Welcome back! Come to the kitchen – dinner’s almost ready, just give me five minutes…” he disappears.

His feet move forward on their own. A moment later, he finds himself in the midst of the cacophony.

“Did you have a good time?” asks Naruto, back turned towards him. He turns his head for a second, shooting Sasuke a mischievous wink. “Or is that also a rhetorical question?”

Sasuke makes a negating movement, and Naruto turns back to the counter, concentrating on slicing leeks. “You should have seen the kids at Iruka’s, they were driving me half mad from last night. I don’t even know how but Konohamaru managed to get one of those giant firecrackers and lit it underneath the neighbor’s porch. Iruka was going crazy… he was still chasing after them when I left. I’m making soup as comfort food, I figure your weekend wasn’t the easiest either…”

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He shuts his mouth again.

“Uchiha-san?” Naruto glances back at him and sees the odd expression on Sasuke’s face. “Something wrong?”

The kettle begins to whistle at the same time the pot begins to boil. Naruto scurries around the space, distracted, spooning in miso paste into the bubbling water and pulling out items from the fridge.

“I…” the word comes out oddly, a half-spoken breath.

Naruto’s head jerks up, momentarily distracted from chopping tofu. He looks at Sasuke, really looks at him.

He puts down his knife.

“Hey. You okay?”

It is inevitable, doing the honorable thing. The dutiful thing.

Sasuke clears his throat. He avoids the blonde’s cornflower gaze.

“It seems,” he says, forcing his voice. He pronounces each word as carelessly as possible. “That I am getting married.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, Chou Chou exists here not as the daughter of Chouji (because Chouji is Naruto's friend) - couldn't have anybody else be Sarada's BFF.
> 
> Shoot me a DM on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/alxkim/). Let's fangirl.


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